The New York Times Effect
by Nunquam Iterum
Summary: UPDATED: With Michael and Lucifer out and about, the Apocalypse II is about to be back on track, reportedly thanks to a Time Lord. The Winchesters' only hope to counter this new threat lies with the Doctor, recent pursuer and now involuntary vacationer on an extended trip to a frightening place that can only be described as out of his genre.
1. Chapter 1 - Mondays are Hell

Chapter 1

**Super**natural

Mondays are Hell

If there was one thing that was human about Crowley, it was his hatred of Mondays.

The demon had never liked them, even when he was just a tailor in Scotland. But now, as the guy who ran Hell, he had grown to dread them as a man might dread a root canal.

In Hell, Monday was the choice day of the week when all of last week's work was submitted. From the pile of deals to be officiated, to the whispering of insurrection, to the reports of activity of a Winchester nature, there was always an obscene amount of work waiting for him on his desk, bright and early Monday morning.

Simply put, there was far too much that needed to be done, and there was only one person on the face of the planet that he trusted to do it: himself.

The King of Hell sighed and sat back in his chair, wearily eyeing aforementioned pile of deals. It was true the pile was rather high, but he really ought to stop fooling himself; the pile OUGHT to be a lot higher. It was part of the reason he was so stressed. When he had solely been in the crossroads business, he knew for a fact that they had brought in at least twice the number weekly.

The truth was that Hell was losing customers, and there wasn't much Crowley could do it about it.

Humanity had a talent for being thick in the head, but even they could only ignore so much. The earthquakes, illness, and floods of the Apocalypse had started getting them antsy, especially with the laughably inaccurate Mayan prophecy due date approaching. But ever since a certain trench-coated 'God' had decided to come out publicly and proceed to go on a religious-themed killing spree, the populous had suddenly decided to tread more lightly in favor of morality to appease 'their Lord'. They also seemed to value their souls a bit more, in light that they might not live the ten years to enjoy anything they would have sold it for.

Crowley reached for the decanter of Craig and glass at the edge of his desk. The amount of drink left was disturbingly low, he noticed.

If there was one thing that Leviathan had known, it was that he needed to keep a low profile to stay successful. Well, a low profile in the sense that he kept his darker side out of the news. In fact, he had even, to an extent, kept quite a bit of the supernatural out of the people's line of sight too… It was a shame that Dick proved to be such a dick. Crowley would have really liked to have a leviathan or two at his beck and call… they were so much more efficient than demons. But really… Canada?

"What we really need," Crowley said to no one in particular, "is a nice long stretch of quiet to get back on track."

"You do realize that was Hoover's plan to get out of the Great Depression." A wry voice answered him. "And he wasn't re-elected."

Slightly startled, Crowley looked up. A perfectly normal-looking fellow stood in the doorway, leaning against the door frame. He wore a gray suit, and he spoke with a British accent. But despite the appearance of normalcy, the presence that now swept through the room was ancient and powerful, almost overwhelming. It was neither angel nor demon, and certainly not human. Crowley had only come across one like it once before.

"Well," Crowley said, eyeing the newcomer, "fortunately, we don't have elections for the position King of Hell. It's more of a, you-hold-onto-it-as-long-as-you-lacerate-the-compe tition position." His guest laughed at this.

"A physical power struggle! How 1930! You make the administration of the Eternal fire seem like a petty gang in which everyone is dealing behind everyone else to become gang leader. I suppose I shouldn't have expected much more from a species of ex-humans twisted and burned into nothing but smoke."

"We are only demons after all." Crowley replied sarcastically.

"Yes, quite! Imagine my surprise when I came down here to discover YOU were the infamous Crowley, King of Hell himself! What a PROPER title. You don't quite fit the image I had prepared though… I was expecting someone, oh, taller maybe. Certainly not someone who frequents around as an FBI agent with my old colleague."

"We all have our hidden talents." Crowley said delicately, "For instance, the air around you seems a bit… charged."

"Believe me; you haven't the slightest idea…" The stranger said, looking casually around Crowley's office. He drummed his fingers on the table absentmindedly, as he looked at Crowley's framed picture of the Bobby Singer deal.

"Can I get you a drink?" Crowley offered his guest. "It's not often I have company of an intelligent nature down here… and frankly I'd love to know how exactly you found 'here'." If there was one thing Crowley knew better than anyone else, it was that it paid to be polite until you were certain there was no point in it.

"Oh I'm sure you would! But I'm afraid I can't… I'm here strictly on business, and I have quite a bit that needs to be done… I'm sure you can relate." He glanced at Crowley's desk. "At any rate, I thought I'd just pop in and give you this notice… you know, courtesy and all."

"Very thoughtful of you." Crowley said, fighting the feeling of alarm that was growing by the second. "But what 'notice' are we talking about exactly?"

"Well, 'Mr. Delaware'… I thought it only fair to warn you that Hell is about to get rather _**hot**_." The man said with a smile.

"…Well I'm aware of the common stereotypical association, but that sounds rather metaphorical. Care to elaborate?"

"I'm afraid I haven't got the time to spare. I'm running a bit behind schedule, and I do have a door to go knock on… have a nice day, Crowley… though I doubt you will…"

And with that, the stranger smiled and left, leaving Crowley to sit for a second, quite lost.

_**SMASH**_

As the terrible smash echoed up from where it occurred far away in the depths of Hell, Crowley was brought roughly to his senses. He hastily grabbed his jacket and looked for his cellphone.

_**SMASH **_

He tore through his file cabinet. Files on demons, files on Angels, the whole drawer on the Winchesters… Where was it?!

_**SMASH**_

Finally he found it. A thin file marked simply, "Doctor Who?" He glanced around briefly, desperately hoping he hadn't forgotten anything. Oh yes. The bottle of Craig… it wouldn't pay to leave that.

_**SMASH**_

Crowley was long gone before the fourth knock sounded, but as he sat down on the dingy motel bed, miles upon miles away, he knew one thing for certain.

This was the worst Monday he'd had in a long time.

3


	2. Chapter 2 - Common Sense

Chapter 2

Doctor **Who**

Common Sense

"Doctor Who?"

"No, just 'Doctor'. 'The Doctor' if you want to be proper about it."

"It's just a name. That's all I'm asking for."

"That IS my name."

"The word "Doctor" is not a name. It's a title, invented in cerca 1300 A.D., to mean-"

"Oh don't lecture me with the etymology… I was there at the time… In fact, I was the reason the word was introduced to this planet…"

The only sound for a couple of minutes was the sound of the clock ticking away the time on the wall, but the two occupants of the room were rather preoccupied with their own thoughts to notice. The Doctor's mind was far away, across time and space. Ella Thompson was trying to recall the number of the most professional help she could remember, should she need it for this case. 999 (the UK 911) was starting to seem the most qualified to deal with this one.

"Alright. If you won't tell me what your real name is, perhaps you'll tell me why are you here? Generally people make appointments before they show up on my doorstep demanding a session."

"I'm not the appointment making type." The response came with a half-heartedly cheeky smile.

"Clearly. But you're avoiding my question."

"…I'm here because… a woman told me to. Sort of a wife-figure, if you want to get technical. Anyway, this is what humans do, isn't it? They go to…" The Doctor gestured to the therapist, "…professionals. She thought I ought to give it a go. Can't say I'm that impressed."

"Professionals need information before they can do their job. Now, I am a therapist, but I'm mainly just for those who are returning from military service shell-shocked. And while you evidently have some problems-"

"I've been in more wars than I can count, if that's a prerequisite."

"…well that's not exactly what I meant-"

"I suppose I'm shell-shocked too now that I think about it. If you want to get technical. Have been for quite some time too."

"Why?"

"I…" The Doctor paused looking up at the therapist, who met his gaze with a surprisingly hard one of her own. He looked away.

"I lost… quite a bit. Friends. Family. Everything it seems."

"In the war? Or because you went to war yourself and left them behind?"

"A bit of both I suppose."

"And now you're lonely?"

"Lonely? No of course not. Why do you think I'm here? I CAME here to BE alone. I don't know anyone at all in this place, and no one knows me. It's practically why I'm here." The Doctor said, fidgeting.

"So you're running away now?"

"Well… no… not entirely… just sort of… avoiding." He waved a hand in the air, unable to come up with an adequate selection of words.

"Why are you avoiding the people who know you?"

"Because they'll want to talk I suppose. Or they don't want to talk about it and instead try to come up with rather obvious schemes to 'take my mind off it'." The Doctor replied, tiredly.

"And you don't want to talk about it?"

"No. Not at all really."

"…you came to a therapist to not talk about what's bothering you." Only years of being a professional with hard cases kept Thompson from smiling at this oxymoron. The Doctor was silent.

"Well you're not really a patient of mine, so don't feel you have an obligation to talk about anything. But what I do know is that 'avoiding' is not the answer to any problem. You want my advice on how to get over loss? Take it slow, but face it. You can't avoid your friends forever."

"You don't know who you're talking to..." The Doctor said with another half-hearted smile, but it faded quickly. "But I suppose you're right. And I suppose I should be going." He stood and turned to leave.

"Wait!-" Thompson stood hurriedly. The Doctor paused but did not turn.

"Yes?" He inquired. Thompson's inner medical student was shouting at her not to let him go. He was a mental case, as sure as could be, based on what she'd seen. And yet…

She sighed.

"…Good luck."

"Thanks."

The Doctor pulled open the door and moved out into a nearly empty waiting room. He stood there for a moment, lost in thought.

There were plenty of people who knew who he was, and they all seemed to know about what had happened. Every time he saw someone, it was the first thing out of their mouths. It was downright torturous to be faced with it every day. But what was worse were the eyes. The pity, the sadness. The fear that he was not himself anymore.

But the therapist was right… he had to face them all sometime. He could just start slow. Who did he know that would be the best to talk to about it? River? Maybe not… she was too tied up in the issue... So was everyone else. He needed someone who had never even heard of the Ponds.

In an instant it hit him. He knew exactly who he wanted to talk to. The Doctor broke out of his reverie and glanced around for the exit. It was then that he spotted the other guy that had been in the room.

A little bit on the short side, he wore a button down and slacks. Despite the fact he had his head in his hands, he had a certain air of rigidity around him, which the Doctor recognized as belonging only to a soldier. But more than anything, the Doctor recognized the look of the fellow's face. He had seen it in the mirror often enough lately. It was the look of total loss.

There was a story here, and possibly a real adventure to go with it. The Doctor could smell it. All it would take was a few measly words to lead to a conversation. It had happened often enough before.

It would take his mind off things. It would be an excellent escape.

"John?" The therapist poked her head out of the room and looked for her next patient, who raised his head. His eyes were dull with an indescribable pain. Wordlessly, he stood and followed Thompson into the room. The Doctor watched them go and then turned to leave himself.

Perhaps another time.

…

For what seemed like the 256th time, the Doctor checked the slip of paper he had. There could be no doubt about it. This was the place. Winston Elementary.

As the Time Lord climbed the steps of the school, he vaguely wondered how Churchill would feel about all the things that were named after him.

"Nobody ever names anything after me." He mumbled to himself, as he pushed the door open.

After charming/psychic papering his way past the receptionist and several teachers, the Doctor finally found his way to the playground. It wasn't the best or the worst play set he had ever seen, but as soon as he laid eyes on it, his mind began to whir with the possibilities of improving it. Before he knew what he was doing, his sonic was in hand.

For a brief moment he was back to his old self. But then the moment was over. He remembered why he was here. And he quickly turned around, searching for a familiar face.

Of course he didn't find one. After all, the last time he had seen the particular face he was looking for it had been an infant. But after speaking briefly with some delightful other primary schoolers, he found just the chap he was looking for.

"Stormegeddon, Dark Lord of All, I do believe it has been some time!" He said jovially as he approached a small blond kid, who looked simply confused.

"You… don't remember me?" the Doctor asked tentatively. The kid shook his head no.

"You… are Alfie, correct?" he asked again. The kid nodded.

"Ah good. I should have realized you wouldn't recognize me… it's been what, seven-ish years, give or take? Yes I knew you when you were just a pint sized tyrant!"

The kid stared.

"I see you've lost none of your capacity for staring. Very good. Come have a seat." The Doctor patted the spot next to him on the brick wall. Stormegeddon, Dark Lord of All complied, and with the Time Lord's help, was soon seated.

"So. How are the folks?" The Doctor asked casually.

"Fine." The kid replied. His voice was high and adorable, as befit a kid his age.

"Excellent. You uh, don't have any siblings, do you?"

"Nope."

"Any other mates in the neighborhood to play with?"

"Not really."

"Well... I guess that makes you pretty lonely."

"Yeah I guess."

The two sat there for the moment, quite an odd looking pair. Finally the Doctor broke the silence again.

"What do you do when you're lonely, Alfie?"

"I dunno… pretend I guess."

"An excellent strategy…. But… what would you do if you couldn't pretend? What would you do then?"

"Find some real live friends. Or try at least."

"Another stunning plan. Unfortunately all my real live friends are gone." the Doctor said sadly, staring off into space.

"What happened to them?" Alfie tilted his head, looking at the curious man in the tweed and bow tie.

"They're… stranded. And I can't park my car to get them." he said tiredly. Alfie looked thoughtful for a moment.

"Are they stranded on a desert island?"

"What? No of course not! Why-" the Doctor didn't even finish his sentence before Alfie continued.

"Are they in a swamp?"

"No-"

"A maze?"

"No!"

"Where are they?"

"New York City!" The Doctor said exasperatedly. He thought he'd never meet anyone who could preempt his speech pattern. But here was this little kid doing it rather effortlessly.

"Then how are they stranded?" Alfie asked, tilting his head again in a questioning fashion.

"It's… complicated. But like I said, I can't park my car to get them." The Doctor said glumly.

"Well…" Alfie said slowly, thinking it through, "Why don't you just park somewhere else and walk?"

The Doctor froze. It was as if everything about reality that had always run smoothly was suddenly jammed.

Why hadn't he thought of that before?

In a flash the Doctor was off the fence and running for the front of the school where the TARDIS was parked.

"Thank you Stormegeddon!" He shouted over his back.

"Uh… sure?" The kid said uncertainly, watching the supposed adult run off.

Upon reaching it, the Doctor wrenched open the door to the TARDIS and sprang to the control board, twiddling this and that, booting up the spaceship.

Was it possible? Could it really be possible? Would this work?

Of course it would.

It was common sense.

The Doctor was going to go fetch the Ponds.

6


	3. Chapter 3 - All Work and No Play

Chapter 3

Sher**Lock**

All Work and No Play Makes Jim a Dull Boy

Boredom.

A nine letter word, it is defined professionally as "an unpleasant, transient affective state in which the individual feels a pervasive lack of interest in and difficulty concentrating on the current activity." Some believe that it is solely the victim's fault, that they are not out-going enough, that there are in fact plenty of interesting things out there to find if a body would just get up and look.

Jim Moriarty disagreed.

It was very clearly everyone else's fault for being exceptionally predictable at every turn. No matter what he did, everyone and everything played it out exactly as expected. Nothing ever changed unexpectedly.

But that's how life rolled along. He had learned that from the start. Everyone simply danced on their strings in a tangled mess. No one knew how to pull the strings. Not even Sherlock. He just happened to know how to trace them back to the puppeteer.

Moriarty cast a bored glance at his iPhone screen. No new news. He hadn't expected any. It had been fun at first, when this whole game started. Things had been hot and heavy and exciting for a while. The best of times. But that was a long time ago.

Before they had died.

Moriarty had never really expected to kill Sherlock. It would have been a bit of a let down to be honest. Why go to all the trouble of crushing the detective's reputation if he wouldn't be around to see everyone despise him and remember him with nothing but disdain?

And to see the torture the good doctor was going through. What a masterstroke.

But ever since they had both left the realm of the 'living', it had become a game of waiting. Waiting for one or the other to come out and return to the world so the next phase of the game could begin. Moriarty had a master plan of course. He always did. But even he, with the patience of a spider, was being tested now. And the waiting was killing him.

"_Well you can tell by the way I use my walk,_

_I'm a woman's man, no time to talk."_

Frowning slightly, the consulting criminal picked up his phone and looked at the caller ID. Completely indifferent, he answered the call.

"Tell me you have something Sebastian."

"No word on him, but-"

"Then why did you call? You're wasting my time." Moriarty's calm voice changed suddenly, turning dangerous, as it often did these days. Boredom didn't suit him well.

"It's about him sir." Moran said carefully. Moriarty fell silent at this. Sebastian Moran took a deep breath, trying to stay calm and professional. It was a bit hard to do, considering he knew his life might just depend on his delivery of this information.

"I'm listening." Moriarty said coolly, standing up. Moran could tell he had the mastermind's complete attention now. It was a frightening prospect.

"There is no news of the detective himself, but there is word on the streets of something else; a strange incident in a TV show studio nearby. A British actor appeared out of nowhere in the middle of filming. Like… on camera or something. The cops are trying to sort it out, but…"

Moriarty took the phone away from his ear slowly, a small malicious smile playing across his features. Strange attracted Sherlock like nothing else. He rolled his neck and shoulders slowly.

It was finally show time.

He lifted the phone back up to his ear.

"Tell me everything."

2


	4. Chapter 4 - New York, New York

Chapter 4

**Super**natural

New York, New York, a Wonderful Town!

"Okay once more… why are we here?" Dean asked.

"No idea. All Cas said was that something was wrong and that we should meet him here."

"He didn't give us anything else… at all?"

"Nope."

"He called… on a cellphone."

"Yes."

"Why didn't he just come speak to us himself?"

"He said he couldn't afford to leave where he was…and he apparently somehow knew you were in the shower, and he said something about how much you value your personal space."

"Hmm." Dean grunted something akin to an acknowledgement. "Well I still don't understand why he hasn't shown yet. We've been here for what, half an hour?"

"Almost an hour actually... if you count the outskirts of the city and the traffic. While you were looking for a parking spot, and uh, praying, I've been checking the headlines to see if I could find what's up in the Big Apple…" Sam said, gesturing to the folded newspaper he was still scanning.

"And?" Dean.

"Well, I'm getting mixed results. So far all the articles that seem remotely interesting to us turned out to just be… really weird cases. Nothing supernatural, just really messed up people."

"Well that's New York for you…" Dean acknowledged.

"Tell me about it." Sam said, taking a huge bit of his Caesar salad. Dean watched him for a moment before he shook his head sadly and turned his attention to the paper. He snatched it up, to Sam's muffled protest and opened it as he sat down. He glanced at the headline and stopped to look at Sam.

"… you actually bought the New York Times?" he asked his brother incredulously.

"Dude. We're in New York. It is the local paper." Sam shrugged, defending himself.

"Sam, the New York Times is National and World News and a ton of crap-tastic advice columns." Dean said tersely. "There's nothing local about it all."

Sam ignored him and continued to eat his salad.

"You are such a nerd." Dean shook his head again, folding the paper over and beginning to read. Silence reigned for a few minutes before Dean broke it.

"Hey look! They're going to release a book containing the complete A. P. Williams!" He said with a grin, pointing the article out to Sam. Sam swallowed another shovelful of salad before answering.

"How do _**you**_ know who A. P. Williams was?!" He asked incredulous. "A 1930s essayist?!"

"I'm not completely against a little culture." Dean said defensively.

Sam gave him a look.

"Eh, Williams might have had a hand in the publishing of _Melody Malone_." Dean said with a satisfied smile. "Best book I ever read."

"You mean the only book you've ever read." Sam muttered, rolling his eyes. He scanned the park for a familiar looking trench coat to no avail. He scraped the last bit of salad out of his bowl before throwing it away in the trash can nearby.

"I don't know about this Dean… I mean, it's nice to finally be in the big city and everything, but I can't help but feel we're on a whole new level here. We dodge the occasional country sheriff and police… but this city has the most sophisticated cop force in the nation. There are probably a whole slew of actual FBI agents here. We may be playing out of our league." Sam said uncertainly, glancing around again.

"Oh give it a rest Sammy. I for one, am going to give Cas another ring." Dean said, folding the paper and bowing his head. Sam bit his lip for a moment, thinking.

"Hail Castiel, full of himself, we came to be with thee. Awkward art thou amongst everyone, and late is thy trench-coated ass." Dean said in his most reverent voice. They both waited for a second. Nothing happened.

"Maybe he's busy?" Sam suggested.

"That feathery moron stood us up." Dean said incredulously.

"Well your prayers aren't exactly the most compelling requests…" Sam started but stopped at the look Dean gave him.

"…right. Why don't we head back to the Impala and try to find a room for the night that won't break out bank." Sam suggested. He stood and Dean followed suit.

"You know the ironic thing is that most people pray their entire lives and never even see an angel." Sam said tiredly stretching.

"So? We HAVE seen an angel, and therefore ignoring us is just rude on his part. I would make a better angel then him any day of the week."

"Oh sure. Because you're totally the righteous type." Sam said rolling his eyes.

"What are you talking about? I'm righteous!" Dean said indignantly.

"Sure Dean. If it helps you sleep at night. Oh wait. That's what the women are for."

"I fight nightmares for a living. I freakin' save lives."

"You also seem to take a lot too."

"They're monsters Sammy."

"Yeah. So is Benny."

"Oh come on… he's different." Dean started to protest, but the taller Winchester turned around, more than a little pissed.

"You didn't seem to consider that possibility when you killed Amy Pond."

"Sammy-" Dean's face hardened as he tried to reply when suddenly the air grew as icy as the conversation had become. The temperature must have dropped at least twenty degrees in 2.56 seconds flat. It was as if Canada's winter weather system had suddenly descended on Central Park. The Winchesters noticed the change immediately, and dropped all thoughts of their conversation.

"Did you feel that?" Dean asked, immediately alert.

"Definitely. What do you think? Ghost?" Sam turned in place, scanning their surroundings.

"In the middle of Central Park? During the daytime?" Dean asked critically.

"Well... there's nothing that says they CAN'T be where a bunch people are out in the sun…" Sam said, though even he didn't fully believe it.

"Yeah well it won't have to worry about the sun for much longer." Dean said, looking up.

"Oh my god." Sam said, voicing both their thoughts. In place of the fluffy cumulous clouds that had present moments before, there was now a swirling vortex of darker clouds that seemed to be coming together like a hurricane.

"Uh… we should get back to the car…" Sam said nervously.

"No argument there." Dean agreed. The two took off jogging toward where the Impala was parked at the other end of the Park. As they passed the picnic tables Sam had been scanning earlier, Dean was startled to briefly meet a piercing gaze of an odd-looking fellow in a tweed jacket and bow tie. An inexplicable terror filled him, and he felt a sudden urge to run as fast as he could. As they shoved past a few more people, Dean looked back. The stranger was gone.

As they reached the Impala, they yanked the doors open and swung themselves in.

"Cas we could really use your help right now…" Dean prayed tensely. Sam kept his eyes on the sky, which despite the fact it was only 2:56 P.M., had grown as dark as early evening.

Neither of the Winchesters thought to look in the backseat.

"*Beep*"

Dean was briefly aware of three things before he lost consciousness: 1) an intense heat, 2) a horrible electronic noise not unlike dubstep, and 3) the familiar sound of wings.

4


	5. Chapter 5 - A Blade in the Water

Chapter 5

Doctor **Who**

A Blade in a Pond

The street was dark and gloomy, with exactly two dim streetlights lighting the way. The cobblestone street was slick with the afternoon rain, and the skies overhead still held the clouds responsible. For New York at night, it was eerily quiet. Then again, this was the 1930s.

If there had been an onlooker to the scene, the first thing he or she would have noticed was how out of place the stranger was. Practically bouncing on the balls of his feet and whistling a cheery tune, the Doctor was sunshine incarnate amidst the much darker setting. It had never mattered to him what others thought. And today especially he was far too excited to worry about the setting around him. Too excited to care.

Too excited to notice the flickering lights.

It was the kind of excitement that should have been contagious. It would have made a companion smile and shake their head. Of course, he didn't have anyone like that at the moment. But that was about to change.

Not even the fact that he had to take a two hour car trip into the city had damped his spirits. Normally such a waste of time was unthinkable, but this was worth it to him. Ten times over. Plus he had that crossword to catch up on. Well he had had it. He had finished it an hour and forty five minutes ago.

It had been a bit confusing, having to determine where they lived in the midst of this tangle of humanity. But at last he had, after some struggle, triumphantly obtained their address from a startled newspaper publisher who regularly received star articles from Amy.

Whirling in place, he came to a stop in front of a somewhat dismal looking building squeezed in like all the others. There was a sad little attempt at a flower box in the window sill, and drapes made of a fabric that wouldn't be in style for at least sixty years. The Doctor grinned. This was the place.

For the excruciatingly long car ride he had spent many a minute contemplating just how he would open. He had prepared a monologue for the greater part of an hour, but now he reconsidered. There wasn't much that needed to be said. They would already know it all.

'Hello Pond' would do just fine he decided. And with that final decision he strode up to the door.

He rapped sharply on the door, but only managed four knocks before the door opened in on itself. Slightly startled, he peeked in, seeing only a long dark hallway. For the first time, his elation was punctured by the tiniest sliver of fear.

"Maybe they just… forgot to lock the door tightly…" He suggested to himself, "…in the 1930s… just after organized crime syndicates can no longer profit off of illegal alcohol sales and turned to more… criminal pastimes…" He swallowed, his two hearts beating out a tarantella in his chest as he made his way down the hallway.

"Amy?! Rory?! PONDS!?... " He called. No one answered but he heard a slight movement deeper in the house.

Moving quickly, sonic in hand, the Doctor opened the nearest door and scanned the room rapidly. Nothing. He moved across the hall and checked the next room. Nothing again. But there was another sound from down the hallway.

"Hey! Anyone there?! THE DOCTOR'S HOME!" He called out in a warning tone. Now there was a loud clatter, as something or someone was moving fast.

The Doctor was faster. In an instant he was around the corner to see what was there. And it stopped his hearts.

There on the floor, in a pool of her own blood, lay Amy Pond.

The flickering light of another dim streetlamp cast a set of shadows to play across her deathly pale face. Her hair, once the very fiery depiction of her personality, was now lay encircled her head as a faded halo. Everything about the scene lacked life and color… everything sapped away by the dark blossom that grew on the front of her shirt.

Just above Amy stood a stranger. As he looked on, the Time Lord's eyes narrowed and adjusted, and an image made itself clear through the tears that had formed. Brown leather jacket, army green button down, black t-shirt. Denim jeans and hiking boots. Five o'clock shadow and cropped light brown hair.

A shining silver blade was in his hand, covered in blood.

The Doctor and the stranger locked eyes for the briefest of seconds before the latter disappeared. It didn't matter though. The Doctor would remember the face.

"Doctor…?" the quietest of voices called him back to reality, and in a flash he was at his companion's side.

"Amy! I'm here! Don't worry, I'm here! You're going to be all right!" the Doctor said hurriedly, his hands trembling as he scanned her wound with the sonic screwdriver and studied the readings. They only confirmed the awful truth. He threw the screwdriver away.

"Is that… really you?" Amy muttered, breathing heavily.

"Yes, yes it's really me! Of course it's me, who else would it be?!" The Doctor said crossly, looking around madly as he tried to calculate what to do. Maybe if he mortally wounded himself the regeneration…

"It's… too late for me…Rory…" Amy said, coughing up blood.

"No, no it's not too late! I'm a doctor, remember? I fix things just like this!" the Doctor said, trying in vain to assure both himself and Amy. Neither bought it. Amy closed her eyes with a slight smile as the Doctor continued to look around frantically as he held her head in his lap.

"…Doctor…?" Amy asked. The Doctor was jolted back to reality and he looked at her again. He could see the light leaving her eyes.

"Yes Pond?" He asked, his voice cracking.

"Promise me you'll… look after Rory…"

"Of course, but-" the Doctor tried to protest but even while dying Amy cut him off.

"Doc…tor…" She coughed. He fell silent.

"I'm… glad… you're here."

"Me too Pond. Me too." He said, the tears coming fast and hard. He bent his head to touch hers.

There he sat as they became only him. Silent sobs racked the Time Lord's form until he could be silent no longer. Seconds became minutes. Minutes became hours.

Finally he looked up. His eyes were red, but they would cry no more.

Something had stirred itself in the Time Lord. Something ancient and terrible. Something he had locked away in favor of being loving, compassionate, and merciful. Something he had locked away so he could be more human.

But he was done being human now.

Now was the time the world would see just why the Time Lords were feared.

3


	6. Chapter 6 - Identity Theft

Chapter 6

Sher**Lock**

Identity Theft

Sherlock Holmes was in a state.

Despite the fact it was terrible quality, the stash of tea in the cabinet was decidedly too low. As was the stack of nicotine patches on the bathroom counter. The floor of the dingy motel room was a swamp of books, newspapers, clothing, and general rubbish. A disturbing smell emanated from the kitchen in general, and the milk in the fridge had long ceased being a liquid. He had a new roommate too, but he was 93% sure that it was not of the Homo sapiens classification. It certainly didn't do much to help with the mess.

Since he had been conscious, the consulting detective had been crouched in the uncomfortable chair, hugging his knees, staring at the computer. News of the outside world had always been somewhat important to Sherlock – it was where his cases lay after all. But the first thing he had painfully realized after his suicide was the reality that when you are presumed dead, people no longer contract you for work. No work meant two things: no money and, more importantly, nothing to keep the mind occupied.

"I need a case." Sherlock muttered to no one in particular. It was just about the only thing he said these days. That and "this tea is rubbish." His new roommate wasn't one for witty conversation. Or any conversation at all, really.

Sighing, Sherlock altered his position to that of a normal human sitting at a desk. His fingers whirred across the keyboard in a familiar pattern, and he soon found himself at a familiar site: Scotland Yard, online database. _Welcome, Detective Inspector Lestrade _flashed up on the screen, and Sherlock shared a wry grin with himself. To be perfectly honest, it hadn't even been a proper hacking job; Lestrade was just too predictable. His wife's sister's ex-husband's step-niece's name. With a zero. A Zero. Could it have been easier?

With a contented smile, Sherlock settled into his favorite pastime – reading case files. Well, it was partially his favorite pastime – and partially it was his torture. The reports on the Scotland Yard database were final; they were those that were submitted at the end of the case. For Sherlock, they could often become stroke-inducingly painful, as there were always several holes that he itched to explore himself. Nonetheless, it was one of a few ways to pass the time and to keep him from experimenting with heavier drugs.

As the consulting detective's eyes raced across the screen, a smile broke over his features. Lestrade had finally submitted the Thompson case. It was about time. That had happened, what, a month ago? Too long. He clicked the file and it flashed open.

Scrolling to the bottom, high-functioning sociopath scanned the last few lines of the report for the general conclusion. After a second or two he found what he was looking for. As always, Lestrade's typical non-committal wording caused him headache, but soon Sherlock sat back in his chair with another sigh. Lestrade had declared it to be a void case. Thompson was to be examined by one of her own profession.

To be perfectly honest, this particular case had provided the most entertainment for him in his life lately. It simply reeked of peculiarity – an element he practically required in cases of his choice. However, despite his disappointment in the resolution of the case, the evidence that supported Lestrade's claim was about as solid as the wall of China. Smith was on another continent, being filmed at the time in question. You don't get an alibi that concrete very often.

Sherlock glanced at the clock. 2:56 A.M. in the morning. He stared at it for a second and then shrugged subconsciously. It wasn't like he was doing anything tomorrow. He never did anything these days. Except order Chinese takeout and transfer money to his credit card from Mycroft's bank account with which he could then buy more Chinese takeout. It was a glorious existence.

The detective scrolled upward through the report slowly, lost in thought. He was about halfway through when something caught his eye. A name.

_The only other witness, Dr. John Watson, a patient of Thompson's, testifies that he was too traumatically disturbed at the time to have gotten a proper look at the suspect._

_Traumatically disturbed_. Sherlock stared at the words for a moment or two. Maybe ten.

He had known, of course, that John had been a patient of Thompson's. It was why Lestrade had taken the case, even though it wasn't in his department. Sherlock had also been aware Watson was in fact, a witness to the peculiar break-in.

What he was not aware of was this claim to being incapable of helping due to… what exactly? Sherlock scanned the rest of the paragraph rapid-fire, but there was nothing further about John being disturbed. The consulting detective sat back again.

Why was John traumatically disturbed?

If Sherlock had possessed a bit more skill in being a social human being, he would have identified the gnawing feeling in his stomach as worry. As it was, the sociopath was labeled as such for a good reason. He attributed the discomfort to the bad tea, and proceeded to exit out of the case report.

With a few clicks of his mouse, Sherlock pulled up Lestrade's official email. He scanned the inbox, sent and trash to no avail. The consulting detective sat disappointed, glaring at his computer as if it was the machine's fault.

After a second, Sherlock slowly clicked out of the website altogether. Fingers whirring across the keyboard, the detective brought up a new site. Lestrade's personal email. The password for this one was even easier – the lieutenant's favorite dish. _Éclair_.

A moment of intolerable waiting passed as the slow processing website struggled to load. Then Sherlock was in.

And there was what he was looking for.

An email from John.

_Sorry I couldn't be of more use to you, Greg. Just wasn't paying attention I suppose. Let me know if I can make it up to you somehow. God knows I have too much free time on my hands now._

_John_

Sherlock steepled his fingers and stared at the email, analyzing it. On the one hand, it would seem to be comforting to hear from John himself that he was just _not paying attention_. But John was a soldier, and a soldier's life depends on them paying attention. If a soldier isn't paying attention, it's because he's _incapable_.

Then there was the rambling. Watson was always short and to the point. He didn't talk much. It was one of the things Sherlock distinctly liked about the army doctor. But here he was going on about his free time. A whole extra sentence.

"Maybe it was just with me…" Sherlock mused to himself. His voice was hoarse from lack of use. With a sudden rush of contempt, Sherlock slammed his computer shut and spun out away from the desk in his chair. The man who once saved the entirety of the U.K. from a criminal mastermind wheeled his roller chair over to the bed, grabbed the remote and turned on the TV.

Pulling his legs up to his chest, the self-proclaimed genius began to flick through the channels dully. He wasn't really interested in watching the telley. But he had to do something to occupy his mind.

"_This is Masterpiece Theate-"_

*Click*

"_Do YOU need a new Dentist?"_

*Click*

"_I'm Misha Collins and you're watching-"_

*Click*

"_In other news today, there was a peculiar incident on the set of locally filmed hit series, Supernatural. Sources report that in the middle of filming, an unauthorized man managed to get past security, into the studio, and on set._

Sherlock had almost clicked on when a picture flashed up. He stopped short.

" _CW had this to say:_

"_At this moment, we do not know how the intruder got into the studio – absolutely no one saw him enter any of the entrances - but the issue is being dealt with as speak. Tighter security measures are being taken, to insure the safety of our actors and indeed everyone involved in the show."_

"_As for the unidentified Mr. Doe, the police escorted him off the proximity and took him down to the station to be interrogated. As of yet, we do not know what Mr. Doe wanted on the set, but whether it was indeed the psychotic obsession Supernatural fans are known for or just an unfortunately detoured search for a bathroom, it certainly is odd just how far he made it. One might even say it was Supernatural. Stay tuned for more!"_

Much to Sherlock's annoyance, the reporter and the picture vanished from the screen to be replaced with a commercial for McDonald's. With a swift motion, Sherlock shut the TV off.

He knew that face. He had seen it before very VERY recently.

Swiveling over to his computer, he booted it up, drumming his fingers impatiently. At last, he successfully brought the internet browser up on the screen. With all the speed of a professional web surfer, he typed the name and hit enter. The results flashed up on the screen. The consulting detective barely glanced at them before he sat back again, a feeling of delight creeping over him.

The picture the news channel had shown had been taken with a cell phone. It was blurred and not very good quality at all. But Sherlock had no trouble identifying the very man Thompson had accused of breaking into her house. And in fact, he had no doubt that the TV channel would very soon be receiving at least a few hundred calls also identifying the man.

Matt Smith was after all, the star of a TV show himself.

Sherlock leaped up from his chair, a tingling in his hands and feet that he hadn't felt in some time. It was a case. It was local. No one here knew him. This was Canada.

Kicking aside some laundry on the floor, Sherlock picked up a familiar article of clothing. His black coat. He wondered if he should risk wearing it. Shaking his head, he moved to the closet to hang it up. The long black coat belonged to Sherlock Holmes, detective extraordinaire whose image was quite spread across the UK, and even here in the America's to an extent.

No… he had to be someone else for the time being. But who? It couldn't be anyone that people would associate with him.

The detective smiled as it hit him.

He knew exactly who he was going to be.

5


	7. Chapter 7 - Shoot the Messenger

Chapter 7

**Super**natural

Shoot the Messenger

When Sam awoke he sat up far too quickly. Vision swimming and head pounding, he nearly collapsed into unconsciousness again. Gradually though, his sight cleared and his headache lessened. Soon he became aware of his surroundings.

He was in a dim motel room – a standard Winchester setting if there was ever such a thing. All rooms like this looked familiar to Sam, so it was impossible to tell if it was one they had actually booked before or if it was new. However the room itself wasn't so as important as the people in it.

Dean was unconscious on the other twin bed, drooling slightly into the pillow. Sam felt the briefest sense of relief he upon confirming the safety of his brother. But Sam's attention was quickly taken away from his sleeping brother by a certain pacing angel.

"Cas!?" Sam said, more than slightly surprised.

"Good to see you are well Sam." The angel glanced up at him, nodding a quick awkwardly formal greeting, before quickly returning to his pacing and presumably his thoughts. Sam stared at the angel for a few seconds waiting for some further explanation as to exactly how he had gotten here. No such enlightenment was forthcoming. Sam was uncomfortably aware of how he had never been as good as Dean when it came to conversing with the celestial being.

"Uh… Cas, what happened? How… why are we here? The last thing I remember…" Sam trailed off, trying to recall the events before falling unconscious. The trench-coated angel stopped pacing.

"What is the last thing you remember?" Castiel asked him, suddenly looking up with a hard gaze.

"I don't… getting in the car maybe?" Sam said, putting a hand to his aching head.

"You weren't… running from anything?"

"Uh… not that I remember. Cas what happened?"

The angel was silent. He looked exceptionally troubled.

"Ohhhhh, my head…" Dean groaned as he awoke with perfect timing. "What happened? I haven't felt like this since… Cas?!" It took the elder Winchester a moment to become aware, but when he did it was almost comical.

"Hullo Dean." Castiel bobbed his head in his typical greeting to Dean. The latter looked as if he was about to call Cas out on showing up late, but he quickly shut his mouth upon noticing the difference in their surroundings.

"Uh… what is…did I miss something?" Dean's asked, glancing at Sam who shrugged. "Cas? Care to share?"

The angel said nothing for a moment longer, before he began carefully.

"A subspace catalyst volatile was detonated inside your car. I managed to reach the two of you before it claimed you…"

"Wait, what?! Volatile?! Like an explosive?!" Dean interrupted immediately.

"Yes. But I managed to life the two of you-"

"WHAT ABOUT MY BABY?!"

"…you're…?... I wasn't aware you had a…"

"MY CAR!"

"Dean let him finish." Sam told his brother. Dean looked somewhere between rage and tears. He was certainly a little emotionally unstable. But he did shut up, albeit in a sulking way. Sam looked to Castiel again.

"…as you were saying Cas?" Sam gestured for the angel to continue. Cas looked uncertainly at Dean for a moment before continuing.

"I am sorry I was unable to save your car Dean. But there were only yoctoseconds until the device exploded and I thought it would be far better to save you both instead…" Cas said apologetically.

"A freakin' BOMB. In my CAR!" Dean repeated, clearly angry.

"I'm sure he means "Thanks for saving our lives" Cas." Sam told the angel. "So what are we looking at here? I mean, there are plenty of people who want to kill us…"

"That is what I am chiefly concerned about. There may be plenty who WANT to kill you… but they opened a Subspace dimension. Which means they didn't want to kill you… just capture you."

"Uh… subspace dimension?" Sam asked, sounding more than a little lost. "I don't think we've ever come across anything like that before..."

"That's because it's extremely advanced magic… I've only ever known a few very skilled and powerful angels to use it. It opens a rift in reality, pulling the victim into a sort of… pocket dimension for transportation purposes. Or perhaps containment."

"Oookay, so… one of the God squad's after us?" Dean summarized brusquely.

"No I don't think so. It takes a very powerful angel, or a whole set of angels to create and maintain even a small subspace dimension… and…"

"There weren't any other angels at the scene." Sam said realizing. Cas nodded in confirmation.

"I would have been aware had any celestial being been within three hundred miles. No one was there." The angel told them.

"Is it possible that someone could have been flying under the radar?" Dean asked.

"Not that I know of."

"Well that's great. Now we have another MAJOR player on the board, and he wants to KILL us." Dean said, throwing his hands up in frustration.

"Capture actually." Castiel corrected him.

"Oh right. I'd forgotten. That makes it so much better." Dean said scathingly sarcastic. But then he realized something. "Hey wait! You say the subspace thing doesn't kill… just capture… does that mean baby made it?"

"Well I am not that familiar with the inner workings of subspace magic but… in theory I'd say yes." Cas said. Dean's face visibly brightened.

"Do you have any ideas who-or what-might be responsible Cas?" Sam asked the trench-coated angel, bringing the conversation back around to the important topic. The angel looked decidedly troubled again.

"Not… no." He said hesitantly. The Winchesters exchanged wary looks.

"Cas, please do not lie to us. We may only be a pair of humans, but you're a terrible liar. And we can tell." Dean said tiredly, almost begging the angel. Castiel fidgeted.

"I am not lying to you. I have no strong ideas on the identity of whoever is after you. It's just…" Castiel spoke nervously.

"Yes?" Sam prompted.

"You can tell us Cas." Dean echoed. Cas looked out the small dirty window of the motel room.

"I felt a strong presence nearby, one that was watching the events unfold as a hunter may watch its prey walk into a trap. I am nearly certain it was who opened the subspace but… it was so overwhelming… it reminded me of the archangels."

At this both Winchesters sat up a little more attentive.

"Cas, all the archangels are dead." Dean said reassuringly.

"Or worse." Sam added.

"Actually… I'm afraid that's no longer the case." A familiar voice came from across the room. The trio whirled around to none other than Crowley, the King of Hell himself, stumble into the main part of the room and collapse into a chair, bruised, battered, and a little bit bloody. The Winchesters were on their feet in an instant, Dean pulling a vial of Holy Water, Sam pulling a knife. But Crowley held up his hands.

"Relax. Spare me your touching greeting. It's lovely to see you boys, but frankly I could do without more touching from you two or really anyone at the moment."

"What do you want Crowley?" Dean growled.

"Took me forever to find you guys. Was beginning to think you'd left me out of the club."

"Why are you here?" Cas asked, just as pointedly blunt as Dean.

"Right to the point, aren't you all? Well, haven't you heard? We're allies again!" Crowley said with a cold smile.

"No we haven't." Sam said coldly. "But whatever the news, I doubt it would lead us to working with you willingly."

"Please. You're the one who killed my dog. What have I ever done to you?" Crowley asked sardonically.

"What are you talking about Crowley?" Cas asked, holding up a hand to both Winchesters.

"Well it's good to see at least someone in our group has a bit of sense left. Although knowing you, maybe I shouldn't speak too soon." Crowley said readjusting his position in the chair. "Do you kids have anything good to drink around here?"

Neither the Winchesters nor Castiel moved.

"You know what? Forget I asked. What you consider good isn't safe to imbibe anyway. I'll just drink away my troubles later. Or maybe not, seeing as my future is shortening as we speak."

"Get to the point Crowley." Dean said roughly.

"Yes, yes. The point. Well to put it simply, a bloke walked into my office the other day. Nice chap, proper Brit. Or at least he was until he went and opened Lucifer's cage."

The room was dead silent for a whole minute.

"What?" Dean finally managed.

"You heard me sunshine. Lucifer. Michael. Both out and about. And I've been officially impeached if you haven't noticed. Oh and the Apocalypse is back on. Sort of. There's yet to have been a formal declaration. But it's about to happen any day."

"Why should we trust you? Last time we met, we were enemies." Sam pointed out.

"Oh I don't know… maybe because if we don't get our act together NOW we're going to be fried crispier than dear Lucifer himself!"

"Had the Michael and Lucifer been freed, I would have heard…" Castiel began, but Crowley shook his head with a laugh.

"Heard? By the time you hear, it'll be them knocking on your door to kill you. Last thing I've heard, they've both decided upon a temporary ceasefire until they've done away with all who stopped the last apocalypse."

"Revenge isn't the angel style…" Castiel said thoughtfully.

"But efficiency is. When are you morons going to accept this is happening? Haven't you already experienced a slight problem of your own?!" Crowley said exasperatedly. At this Castiel stiffened. His face was contorted as if his mind was racing on the inside.

"…I have to go." The angel, said momentarily. Both Winchesters stood immediately.

"Cas wait, we shouldn't make any hasty plans." Sam said cautiously.

"Let's just talk about this. We should make a plan together." Dean pleaded.

"We need intel to make a plan. And… there's something I have to look into." Castiel said stiffly. "I promise I'll be back shortly."

Then the angel vanished.

The Winchesters stood there lost for a moment, as if it was finally sinking in that one of their worst fears was coming to pass. Again. They were back in wartime all over again.

"Well… we beat this once. We should be able to do it again." Sam said confidently. Dean gave him an incredulous look.

"Sammy, all the repercussions of that 'victory' still haunt us to this day!"

"We'll just have to deal with it. That's what we do." Sam argued.

"Hate to interrupt your soulful bonding moment, but I'm afraid things are not exactly the same this time. We have… how should I put it? An even bigger concern on our hands. They make Lucifer and Michael fight look like an insignificant squabble." Crowley produced a file from his jacket and handed it to Sam.

"Doctor…Who?" Sam read the file label, before looking up at Crowley again.

"Hell if I know. It's one of the best kept secrets around, frankly. Neither the angels nor the demons even have a clue this guy exists. But they're about to get a sharp wake up call, and it won't be pleasant."

"What do you mean by that?" Dean asked.

"All in good time cupcake. At the moment I have a question for you: How do you boys feel about aliens?"

**. . .**

"I still can't believe you were an FBI agent under Nixon." Sam said, shaking his head. Dean looked at him.

"That entire story and THAT'S what you have problems with? What about the fact there have been freakin' aliens that we forget every time we look away!? There could be one in this room right now!" Dean said, his voice reaching an unusual pitch.

"The Silence aren't around anymore sweetheart. We took care of them. What IS around is the Doctor – and another one like him."

"You don't have much information about him here…" Sam noted, skimming through the file again. "Most of the time it just seems like you're crushing on him."

"All part of the cover, Moose. But most of that 'crushing' is true by the way. His intellect far surpasses any processing power you two or your feathered friend possess. That alone is reason enough to be wary."

"What about this 'blue box' this T-A-R-D-I-S?" Dean asked, glancing at one of the many papers from the file.

"Doesn't look like much does it? But it was incredible. I tried to get down as much as possible, afterward, but I do believe there were many more rooms."

"A spaceship… looks more like a porta-potty." Dean said critically "Still, the drawings of the inside look… a bit space age."

"There's one thing I don't get…" Sam interrupted. "If he can travel through time and space at the push of a few buttons… why doesn't he just undo everything he doesn't like? Why doesn't he just go back in time and try to kill our mother before we're born or something?"

"Maybe he never watched the Terminator? Maybe too many people were already trying to kill your mother?" Crowley suggested. "I don't know. I overheard one of his friends saying there are certain points in time that can't be rewritten, so we'll have to assume for now we're safe. As an added bonus, as far as I could tell, he knew next to nothing about my true nature, or indeed any of the darker magic side of the world. He was strictly into aliens."

"That's another thing…" Dean said, "How come none of you demons or the angels caught on to the whole aliens-are-real bit?"

"Up until you morons showed up, the angels were quite removed from the world. Even then when they did show up, it was always on specific orders for interaction with us or humans. The Doctor's style, as far as I can tell, has always been to dance around the edges of history. Because he was not the cause of any catastrophic problem, the storm trooper angels were not sent to 'deal' with him. And the way he works… well, he tends to stick with the resources his surroundings supply him – he doesn't flash around a bunch of fancy powers. In that way, from a distance, he might look very human to you or me or a bunch of dimwitted feather heads. As for us demons, well we really only associated with the scum of humanity when we were called or were lucky enough to escape the Pit. In the end if you want to get technical, it's all perspective. We call it magic, they call it Science. Half the creatures you hunt could have alien origins – their magic could be advanced telepathic science that they themselves don't quite understand the technicalities of it. The point it… we're wasting time discussing this." Crowley explained tersely.

"Well how exactly are we supposed to proceed? After all your crushing, all we've learned is how amazing and probably undefeatable this guy is. Is there even a way to kill him? You note here that he just 'regenerates' when you try to kill him." Dean mentioned, perusing another page of the file.

"Kill him? Why would we want to kill him?" Crowley asked, as if the question was ridiculous.

"Uh… he tried to kill us first? He let Lucifer and Michael out…? Started the apocalypse again?" Sam listed the things on his fingers.

"No, no, no. The Doctor is about as 'good guy' as they come. Almost made me vomit on my nice shoes. Certainly more of a hero than you ridiculous facsimiles. No, the guy who let Michael and Lucifer out, I'd never seen before in my life. But his presence felt a whole lot like the Doctor's. It's my guess they're of the same kind, which leads to my next assumption that this new guy is just as dangerous, if not worse with the lack of moral restraint."

"But this picture…" Dean pointed to a black and white photograph of Crowley, the Ponds, River, and the Doctor all together smiling for a camera. "That's definitely the guy I saw in Central Park. Right before our car exploded."

"Maybe you did something to tick him off?" Crowley suggested. "Whatever it was, he tried to capture you alive before your feathered friend saved you… he has your car on his ship."

"That's what Cas said." Sam agreed. But Dean perked up.

"He has my car on his ship? How do you know that?"

Crowley reached into a back pocket and produced a familiar coin and Dean groaned.

"You still haven't found the other sunshine. I always know where you two are as long as you take the car. On the bright side, we can now track our alien friend and enlist his help."

"I dunno… he certainly didn't seem too friendly when I saw him." Dean said uncertainly.

"Well we frankly don't have time to be shy about it." Crowley said, standing and moving towards the door "And do you want your car back or not?"

8


	8. Chapter 8 - The One that Got Away

Chapter 8

Doctor **Who**

The One that Got Away

Empty. The car was empty.

The Doctor shut the door to the '67 Impala with a little more force than necessary, before stalking out of the room. He had seen the two denim-clad figures get in the car, and then the car vanish from sight as the subspace detonator captured it. But now, here… they were gone. They had escaped.

"Usually I'm the one running away…" The Doctor muttered to himself, as he came back into the main console room. He flipped a few switches. An image flashed up on the screen. Amy Pond's murderer.

"That certainly was you in the park… unless I'm going blind and deaf… but what about your wings?" The Doctor said musing. Though the burn in his chest was still there, the enthusiasm had started to die down. He had never been the hunter before. It didn't feel right.

When the murderer had fled, the Doctor had instantly taken measurements with the sonic to discern where he had fled too. To his slight surprise, the most prominent reading was that of some sort of time residue, foreign, but nothing he couldn't track. Once he was back in the twenty-first century, however, the trail stopped cold, leaving him back in Central Park. Cold that is, until the murderer and another plaid-decked fellow walked right in front of him, arguing about the death of Amy Pond.

Had he been a few centuries younger he might have killed them on the spot. But he told himself he'd plan something better. That he could just capture them alive with a subspace dimensional transfer.

Apparently not.

"It's time to find out more about you two..." The Doctor told the image of Dean, flipping a few switches to set the TARDIS on standby. The engines hummed softly before growing quiet.

The car was a story all by itself. The Doctor had always liked the model, a '67 Impala. But this particular one was more than just a car. It was like a base of operations, an armory, and a home all rolled into one. In the glove box the Time Lord found at least fifteen different pairs of identification, ranging from FBI to CDC. The backseat held duffel bags of clothes and an assortment of rubbish left over from fast food stops. The license plate was a dead end, registered to a nonexistent citizen who happened to have a patchwork name of two lesser rock stars, deceased at least forty years, whose home address turned out to be a bar. And he didn't even want to mention the trunk.

The one clue that had been left behind was a tattered diary, which he had found along with the fake IDs in the glove box. It was property of one John Winchester. The Doctor took it along with several of the other things back to the main compartment to look over.

The contents of the diary were quite unusual.

"Well either this whole family is a bunch of crazies, or Word-based science has inspired a whole underground. 'Witchcraft'. I should have known the Carrionites weren't the end of it." the Doctor said thoughtfully as he scanned the contents.

Sam and Dean. His two denim-clad suspects, apparently. They were only boys in the book at some parts.

"All grown up and lethal. Their father would be proud. Did it ever occur to any of these people that the creatures they were hunting had just as much of a right to exist as they did?" the Doctor said throwing the book down disgusted. He stared at it moodily for a moment before snatching it up again.

"Then again… most of these species are the kind that finds humanity delectable…and they're rather feral…" He muttered flicking through the pages. "I guess this hunting could be qualified as self-defense… or defending humanity I suppose… in a technical court of Galactic Law…"

The Time Lord set the book down again with a sigh, rubbing his eyes. It sounded more like his line of work if it was phrased like that. Saving people. Defending humanity. That equated to heroic, not evil. Once again he got the feeling that something about this whole scenario was wrong.

"But why Amy then?" the Doctor frustratedly asked no one in particular. "How was she a monster?"

It was at that precise moment however, that suddenly the opening tunes to a particularly fast-paced Stevie Ray Vaughan echoed loudly throughout the TARDIS. Almost as an afterthought, the ship's intruder alarm likewise went off. The Doctor looked up startled, just in time for the entire ship to shudder compulsively. Another alarm, the dimensional rip detector went off. Someone was opening a dimensional portal inside the TARDIS.

The Doctor, after his brief moment of shock, quickly pulled a few knobs and flipped several switches on the dashboard. Soon pictures of a multitude of rooms came up on the monitor.

There, in the bottom left corner, the tail end of a familiar car was vanishing into where previously a wall had been.

The Doctor swore in Gallifreyan.

"How did he get in here?!" The Time Lord asked his ship loudly as he fired it up. No one could get in when the door was locked. Not even a professional pick lock! Not unless the ship wanted…?

"Nevermind. He's not getting away." the Doctor said with a set smile. The view from the outside cameras appeared on the main screen, and the Time Lord settled into the familiar controls. The TARDIS rose obediently off the ground and began turning, slowly at first, until it became a whirling storm of blue, taking off after the fast-departing black car.

It was time for a good old-fashioned car chase.

3


	9. Chapter 9 - A Study in Smith

Chapter 9

Sher**Lock**

A Study in Smith

"I'm sorry Detective Anderson. All I know is that he made it onto the set in the middle of a scene. He was escorted out shortly after by security. That's really all I know."

"Indeed. Well I suppose it's not entirely your fault you're unobservant. Could be upbringing or maybe a dash of genetics. At any rate, you won't be of any further use to me. Carry on."

"Uh… thanks?"

For a moment, Sherlock watched the young PA scurry back to his work. Then he jolted himself from his thoughts and turned to leave.

It was good to be out of the cramped motel room, but the latest excursion was beginning to make Sherlock feel worse than he had inside his motel. At least there he had a firm belief in his abilities. Now he was on the field again… well one might as well say that this particular field was about as rocky as the American's Grand Canyon. There were so many things that didn't add up, it might as well be labeled a calculus problem.

"Detective Anderson?" a voice inquired at the detective's shoulder. Sherlock mentally flinched slightly. At first picking the name Anderson had seemed like such a good idea. Now though…

"Yes what is it?" he asked impatiently. However Sherlock instantly lost his annoyance in favor of attentiveness, as it was a security guard who had returned with a colleague bearing more information.

"Hello Mr. Anderson. Name's Sieben. It's a real pleasure, sir. Always wanted to meet a real investigator." The second security officer extended a hand. Sherlock didn't take it.

"Yes, yes. Charmed I'm sure. Judging by your over enthusiastic features, you have something more than your friend do you?"

"Uh… yes sir. Yes, I do. It was my watch when the lousy good for nothin' got in." Sieben said. It was obvious he was still angry about Smith's intrusion.

"Wait, you're telling me you're the one who let him slip by in the first place? Exactly why am I listening to YOU of all people for observations? Clearly you aren't exactly the most reliable person in that area of expertise." Sherlock said disdainfully.

"Well, uh, that's just it sir. I've never been anything less than 100% on the job. I was watching just the same as every other day. He didn't get past me. He must have come in another way. That or he has some sort of invisibility cloak. That's the only way he could have gotten past me. If you find something like that, I'd sure like to hear of it."

"Of course you do. I'd be willing to bet your job is also slightly on the line as well, isn't it?" Sherlock said condescendingly.

"Uh, something like that sir."

"It's always something like that. Well I'm afraid you've been just about as much use as everyone else on this regrettable continent. Thank you for wasting my time…" the detective turned to leave when the security guard stayed him.

"Hold up a second sir, there's more. You should know that when he showed up he was real chatty with one of the actors. Mr. Sheppard I think it was."

"Indeed?" Sherlock asked, his eyebrows arching.

"Sure as the Pope's Catholic. As I was escortin' the intruder off the premises he said something like, 'I'll find you later!'."

"You escorted Smith off the premises? Did he say anything else?" Sherlock asked sharply.

"Well he seemed a bit disoriented to tell the truth. Asked me where we were. He was a bit surprised to find out we were in Canada. Then…" Sieben trailed off.

"What?" the consulting detective prompted impatiently.

"Well, sir, he asked WHEN we were. He must have been rather high or off it, wasn't he? But he didn't seem like he was on anything… he was perfectly lucid. In that way anyway."

Sherlock considered these facts momentarily. They were more than a little strange.

"Is that all there is?"

"'fraid so Inspector."

"Thank you for all your information, Mr. Sieben. You have been… unforeseeably helpful."

"Glad to have helped… I think…" the Security guard gave the detective one last look before he wandered off again, trying to process whether he had just been complimented or not.

After another trip round the crime scene, Sherlock left the studio, thoughts whirling. Catching the bus was more difficult than the detective had suspected. They didn't stop when you raised a hand as the cabs did in London. Still, after four tries he managed to secure a ride to the police station. Unfortunately it would take near an hour, seeing as the bus did actually stop at every stop for people to get on and off. Sherlock reflected he might just end up killing the bus driver in his irritation. At least then he'd get a quicker ride to the station.

_Still,_ the detective thought to himself as he steepled his fingers, long transit gave him time to think. And had never had a case that needed more thinking. Carefully he reviewed the facts in his mind's eye.

First of all, Smith had been reportedly in New York on a tour, the day before the intrusion had occurred. There were only a couple of flights that would have gotten him to this corner of Canada in time for him to commit the crime, and after checking ALL of them, Sherlock still had nothing. Yet he was sure that it was Smith. The consulting detective had flashed around a much clearer picture of the actor for several in the studio, and they had all agreed it was him.

Next there was motive. Absolutely nothing. There wasn't really a crime either. According to the witnesses, including several security guards, a couple PAs, and one decidedly moronic actor by the name of Jared Padalecki, Mr. Matt Smith had been just confused about appearing on set as they had been surprised by his arrival. The security guards confirmed that he had left quite willingly as well.

Then there was Sheppard. The other actor the security guard had mentioned. Sheppard had reportedly been the first one to reach Smith when he was discovered, and he had exchanged a few curious words. After the incident, Sheppard had disappeared, and hadn't been seen since. Sherlock had done a search on the actor; he had appeared alongside Smith in a television show before, back home.

Lastly, there was exactly one door into the particular studio they had been filming, and it was guarded by an around the clock camera at night, and a security guard during the day.

The last point didn't bother Sherlock too much. Camera feeds could be looped, guards could be avoided or paid off. Smith could have waited in a darkened corner of the studio until his chosen time.

But the unusualness of it all… was simply too unusual. The fact there had been no witnesses up until Smith was on camera. The way he had practically infiltrated the studio. Sherlock's mind clicked piece after piece into a jigsaw puzzle that looked like a Picasso painting. The one thing he was sure of was that he didn't believe in coincidences. And as such, everything fit together too perfectly to leave it at that; to pull off something like this, everything must have been planned out to the detail. And plans of this scale designed to do nothing at all pointed to one thing:

Moriarty was ringing.

4


	10. Chapter 10 - Murphy was Right

Chapter 10

**Super**natural

Murphy was Right

"You're kidding me. That's it?" Dean asked incredulously, nodding to the blue Police Box parked innocently under a tree next to a park bench.

"It's…" Sam started to say something but Crowley cut him off.

"Less than you expected? Well, that's the same thought I had about you two, first time we met." Crowley said nonchalantly. "Only difference is this box fulfills expectations and more given the time. So stow your criticism until you've seen what it can do."

The Winchesters exchanged unconvinced glances.

"So what's the plan?" Dean asked the demon.

"Plan? Do we need one? This is one of the good guys we're talking about. If you're on the same side, you're all decidedly civil." Crowley said waving a hand airily. "You want a plan? Go and knock on his door and say, 'Hello, I'm sorry for pissing you off somehow. Let's be friends so we don't all die later on.'"

"I'm not so sure…" Sam started, eyeing the TARDIS warily. "He did put a bomb in our car instead of talking to us…" but the Crowley suddenly held up a hand stopping him. The demon suddenly looked very tense.

"What is it?" Dean asked quickly, catching on something was wrong.

"Demons." Crowley said quietly, tilting his head slightly as if he could sense them better that way.

"What? How many?" Sam asked, looking around quickly.

"Too many." Crowley said, looking angry and nervous at the same time. "They probably tracked me here. They've been following me since…" the demon trailed off frowning.

"They're closing in fast. Damn… Okay listen, new plan: I'll try to draw them off. You get the alien."

"But-" Sam started.

"No time to argue Moose. JUST DO IT." Crowley said heatedly, before vanishing from the spot.

The Winchesters watched the spot where he vanished for a second, before turning to each other.

"New plan?" Sam asked his brother with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah. New plan is I'm getting my car back." Dean said with a serious look in his eye as he took off for the box.

"That's almost as bad as Crowley's." Sam muttered.

The Winchesters approached the blue box warily. Neither could see any cameras or surveillance equipment, but then again… aliens…

Though Dean had been back in time on several occasions, he had never gone back in time in the UK. Neither of the Winchesters had ever seen a police box before, and they both stopped, intrigued by the sign.

POLICE TELEPHONE

FREE

FOR USE OF

PUBLIC

ADVICE & ASSISTANCE

OBTAINABLE IMMEDIATELY

OFFICER & CARS

RESPOND TO ALL CALLS

PULL TO OPEN

"Well… it does say 'free for use of public'…" Dean nodded to the sign, looking at Sam. The younger Winchester rolled his eyes.

"Let's just get in out as quickly as possible. We are so out of our league here it's not even funny."

"Alright, alright. Don't rush me." Dean said testily. Producing a slim leather sleeve case, he proceeded to examine the lock on the ancient and new blue wooden door. The elder Winchester then selected two tools from his case and began to pick the lock. After a moment there was a small click. Satisfied, Dean pulled out his lock pick and pulled the door. It didn't budge.

"Maybe you locked it instead of unlocking it?" Sam suggested.

"Don't be stupid Sammy." Dean said with a scowl. Turning back to the door he stared at it for a second thinking. Then, on impulse, he reached forward and pushed the door. It swung inward.

"Wow. Misleading sign." Sam noted. Dean gave him a look that mostly translated to, "Please shut up." Then he turned and headed inside, Sam following close behind.

It was of course, like nothing they had ever seen before.

"Oh my god." Sam whispered, not able to help himself. For a moment both Winchesters simply stared at their surroundings, taking it in. The curved room, the platform, the computer. Everything was surreal. Strange yet beautiful.

"It's… really space age…" was all Dean could manage. Sam vaguely nodded, before something caught his eye.

"Dean!" Sam whispered urgently, nodding at the console. Upon following his direction, Dean saw what he was pointing out.

There, sitting in some sort of chair with his feet up, was a face the two Winchesters had learned to recognize. The alien. The Doctor. His jacket was off, hanging folded over a nearby railing. He wore a striped shirt and suspenders, a bowtie and brown leather dress shoes. On his nose perched a pair of old reading glasses. The guy looked rather normal and rather peculiar all at once; it was hard to believe he was the centuries old lord of time Crowley described him to be. At the moment however, the more concerning thing to the Winchesters was the familiar book in his hands.

"Is that…?" Sam asked silently. Dean nodded, feeling something burn inside him as he identified his Dad's journal.

"Forget the journal for now. Let's find baby." Dean whispered to his brother. Sam hesitated, but eventually nodded in agreement.

Keeping their eyes on the curious alien, the Winchester's moved around underneath the platform to an arched doorway. Slipping through, they soon found themselves in a network of passageways and rooms that could only be described as a labyrinth. Going from room to room was equally disorienting as it was fascinating. Among those that they stumbled into, there was a library, a swimming pool, a bowling alley, an aquarium, a closet, and even a room dedicated entirely to the making of Swiss cheese.

"It's a good thing we didn't split up, or we might never have seen each other again." Sam muttered to Dean as he closed the door to kitchen.

"How does he even find his way to anything? I'm actually 256% sure the bowling alley was back down the hallway, across from the library!" Dean said, gesturing to the bowling alley through the door he had just opened.

"Hey Dean come see this." Sam called, ignoring Dean's comment. Grumbling, Dean shut the door to the bowling alley and followed the sound of Sam's voice. As he rounded the corner through the door, he found his brother in a new room with nothing in it except a multitude of framed pictures hanging on the four walls. Each picture held a person, or sometimes the Doctor with a person, or group of people.

"Who are they?" Sam asked no one in particular.

"Friends maybe?" Dean guessed. Looking closer, the seasoned hunter saw that each frame also had a small metal name plate. This particular picture, a middle-aged woman with a younger boy, was labeled Sarah Jane and Luke Smith.

"Hey look at this." Sam called his brother over yet again. The younger Winchester pointed out to Dean a particular picture with a smiling red-head. The label read Amy Pond.

"Huh. Amy Pond. That's a weird coincidence." Dean said. He studied the woman in the picture. It definitely wasn't the Amy he and Sam had tangled with.

"This one's familiar." Sam said, gesturing to another picture. It was the same picture Crowley had shown them before, of him, the Doctor, and two others, one of which Dean now recognized as 'Amy Pond'. This picture read Canton Delaware & the Ponds.

"Well I guess that means Crowley was telling the truth. At least partially." Dean said looking at the picture.

"I wonder… why did he risk his neck helping these people?" Sam thought out loud. He'd never seen Crowley's features in a smile as genuine as in the picture. It made him shiver.

"Who knows? Maybe he figured it was in his best interest to save the world. You know how Crowley operates. He's only got two settings: Survival and Profit." Dean said shrugging. "Come on, we still need to find the car." Sam looked at the picture for a second longer before following his brother.

After stumbling through a few more rooms, the Winchesters finally came to a promising door with a sign labeling it: "The Garage". As Dean enthusiastically pushed through the door, he was rewarded with a sight that lifted his spirits through the roof. The Impala, without a scratch, sat gleaming in the center of this wider room.

"Ahhh, there she is. Baby looks as good as new!" Dean leapt over the railing and strode over to his car to run a hand along the hood.

"How are we supposed to get it out of here?" Sam asked critically, looking around.

"That part of the plan was mainly covered by the word 'Improvisation'." Dean said, glancing at his brother before turning back to his precious vehicle. Sam rolled his eyes and moved around the edge of the car to reach a panel of various controls. He examined it, looking for a solution to their problem. There was a promising red button labeled, "Open Garage". Sam pressed it experimentally, but quickly an error light flashed. "No Space Selected". Confused, Sam looked at the panel and found a selection of switches. Glancing back at the Impala, he saw it was sitting in Parking Space #3. He flipped Switch 3 and pressed the red button again.

Instantly with a buzzer the lights darkened and a red scan began to sweep across Parking Space #3. Dean barely jumped back in time, avoiding the red light. As soon as the beam of light finished its journey across the car's surface, the ship shuddered, and the walls began to rotate vertically all around them, as if the ground was the only thing solid in a rotating chamber.

"Get in the car!" Sam shouted to a very confused Dean. Without too much argument Dean, did so and hurriedly turned the key. As the car started, the sound system also turned itself on, picking up where it had left off. Stevie Ray Vaughan. ( watch?v=4N0EQzotrr8) Very loud. Sam jumped into the shotgun seat as the walls stopped rotating. In front of them was now a familiar set of double doors – the very first pair they had come through when entering the phone box; but they were now on their sides – horizontal. As the ship shuddered again, the doors opened with a snap to reveal the outside world.

"Drive!" Sam yelled to Dean, who, though wide eyed, complied. With a squeal tires, they were soon through the doors onto a field of grass.

"Where the hell are we?!" Dean asked Sam incredulously. Sam had no answer for him. When they had boarded they had been in Central Park. Now they seemed to be in the middle of nowhere.

Glancing in the rear view mirror rewarded Dean with a lurching feeling in his gut. The TARDIS, which apparently had been entirely lain on its side, was now rising off the ground and righting itself. It began to turn in an exceptionally ominous fashion, before hurtling after them.

"WHAT THE HELL?!" Dean yelled in disbelief, trying to glance at the rear view mirror and drive at the same time. Sam looked equally dumbfounded.

"DAMNIT CROWLEY YOU DIDN'T SAY IT COULD FLY!" Dean shouted in frustration.

"Uh… you may want to step on it Dean, he's gaining!" Sam said worriedly, turned around in his seat to keep eyes on their pursuer.

"I'm going as fast as I can!" Dean shouted back. With a sudden impulse, Dean turned the steering wheel hard, and the car turned violently, wheels trying to grasp dirt unsuccessfully. The maneuver worked somewhat successfully though, as the TARDIS shot past them on the Left. Shifting gears, Dean took off again, heading directly towards an old wooden fence that lined the field. Beyond the fence was a road and thick woods on the other side of it.

"I hate to say it, but the box turns better than your car." Sam told Dean, watching as the TARDIS got back on track remarkably quickly.

"Yeah well it's a freakin' SPACE SHIP! What do you expect?! Brace yourself!" Dean said irritably. Both Winchesters steadied themselves as if it was a regular thing and the Impala smashed through the wooden fence and turned, tires screeching on the road.

The TARDIS was much closer now, and still gaining. Even over the music, the Winchesters could hear the whirlwind turning sound it made.

"He's on your tail!" Sam cried urgently to Dean.

"What do you want ME to do about it?!" Dean yelled back. As he glanced to his back, he nearly had a heart attack. The blue box had not only closed the distance, but it was pulling up beside them.

_**WHAM**_

With a horrible crunching sound, the blue box rammed into the side of the Impala, before pulling away again.

"Is he trying to run us off the freakin' road?!" Dean asked incredulously glancing sideways.

_**WHAM**_

The box struck the car again, despite Dean's attempts to swerve out of the way.

"DAMNIT I JUST PUT A NEW COAT OF PAINT ON HER!" Dean yelled out the now broken window.

"Dean look out he's coming again!" Sam pointed out. Indeed the blue box was swerving in again. On impulse Dean slammed on the brakes. The TARDIS shot past them into the heavy woods. The Winchesters could hear it snapping trees as it went. Dean put the car in gear again and the Impala shot forward.

As they put distance between and the spot where the TARDIS vanished, they could no longer hear its telltale whirring sound or trees snapping. Sam finally shut off the music so they could listen. There was nothing except the steady growl of the engine.

"Did we lose him?" Dean asked hopefully. As if on cue, the TARDIS burst out of the trees in front of them, and Dean swerved violently, swearing. He barely managed to stay on the road.

"He's turning again. We have maybe a fifty meter lead now, but he's bound to catch up again." Sam informed Dean.

"Dammit. What now?! Cas we could really use your help here!" Dean shouted desperately.

"He's closing fast." Sam said nervously.

"CAS!" Dean yelled. For a moment there was nothing. Then-

"My god, I swear. I leave you boys alone for five minutes…"

"CROWLEY!" Both Winchesters yelled at the demon. He held up his hands in defense and disappeared.

"He's behind us now!" Sam said to Dean. Dean glanced out the rear view mirror and saw the demon had re-appeared on the road directly behind them.

"DOCTOR!" Crowley yelled, standing defiantly in the middle of the road. Just like that, the flying blue box stopped on a dime, feet from where the demon stood.

Torn between the desire to put distance between them and the alien, and the desire to hear what was being said, Dean finally let the latter win and he slammed on the brakes again, swinging the car around in a 180 to face the hovering box.

"DOCTOR I KNOW YOU'RE IN THERE!" Crowley yelled again to the unresponsive hovering box. There was a moment of silence in which the only sound that could be heard was the idling engine of the Impala. Then the door of the blue box was wrenched open from the inside.

"Canton?!" The Doctor asked squinting, genuinely confused.

"Long time no see Doctor." Crowley said, nodding a greeting.

"How are you…? How did you… Where did you come from?!" The Doctor tried to phrase his questions but Crowley stopped him.

"It's a long story. I'm afraid I wasn't entirely honest with you during our first meeting." Crowley said in his apologetic but not really way.

"Come again?" The Doctor asked stepping out of his ship and approaching Crowley, eyes narrowed.

"Well, you knew me as an undercover member of the Secret Service, right? Well, let's just say I was actually undercover as an undercover member of the Secret Service."

"I don't follow…" The Doctor said, coming up close to Crowley, eyes still narrowed suspiciously. Crowley rolled his eyes, deciding it was time to abandon subtlety.

"I'm a demon. Always have been." He said flat-out.

The Doctor's eyes shot wide open in a shock so obvious that even the Winchesters could see it on his face fifty yards away. Silence reigned for a painful moment.

"No. That's not possible. I would have picked it up." The Doctor said, stepping backwards.

"Well you didn't." Crowley said tersely. "But that's not the reason I'm here. We don't have much time, and there are far FAR more important things to worry about starting with-"

What the demon intended to say was never heard however, for at that exact moment something huge, black, and cube-shaped smashed down like a sprung trap on both the Doctor and Crowley.

Shocked, the Winchesters sat there for a second, not quite believing their eyes. Then they scrambled to get out of their car.

It was a huge black stone cube, made out of who knows what. The sides had a strange patterned circular formation of grooves carved into it. As they approached it, the last of an eerie green light seemed to be fading from the pattern.

"Well. That was remarkably easy." A wry voice sounded. The Winchesters whirled around to find the source.

The sight they were greeted with veritably drained every good feeling from their souls.

"I do hope it caught the alien securely like it's supposed to." Lucifer said, eyeing the cube as he strolled forward. As he reached the massive stone formation, he ran a hand along it and bent down to what appeared to be a growing puddle of blood running out from under the giant box.

With a dainty finger, the devil swabbed a finger in the blood and stuck it in his mouth.

"Hm. It would appear it did crush our dear friend Crowley. How unfortunate. I guess I'll have to hunt him down later. Slime like him always escape somehow." Lucifer shot a knowing glance at the Winchesters, both of whom hadn't moved.

"It's good to see you again Sam. We really missed you after you left the cage…" He said to Sam with a sadistically warm smile. "Though I heard you had your own personalized me to hang around anyway… really touching actually. I didn't think you would miss me that much too. We must have something special."

"Go to Hell." Sam said stiffly, almost as if he was in pain.

"Already been there actually. You'd be surprised how quickly everyone abandoned Crowley's bandwagon when I returned. Still popped a few heads though. Just to, you know, get back in the feel of things."

"So what? Is the apocalypse officially back on now? Why are you wasting your time here?" Dean asked directly, done with the polite conversation.

"Why yes. Yes it is Dean. I have to say I'm surprised to see you in such good shape… the way I last left you… but then you have always had unusual good luck…" Satan said smiling pleasantly at Dean. Dean shivered subconsciously.

"But I'm afraid that good luck, or at least your feathered portion of it, is about to be cut short. You see, when we were released Michael and I set up a sort of arrangement. We are brothers after all… we can compromise. The apocalypse is going to be back on schedule very shortly, but first we have to make sure it CAN happen." Lucifer informed the Winchesters, while producing a bottle filled with a red substance.

"First on my particular to-do list was dealing with this guy. Apparently he has a tendency to stop the world from ending… the charming guy who released us was kind enough to warn us about him, AND supply the special box for his capture." He gestured to the giant stone cube.

"As for this," the devil lifted the mixture for the Winchesters to see, "Well I have to confess, ever since I got back I've been a little bit OBSSESSED with hearing what you two had been up too… an Angel civil war! Really? I bet that was FUN. But to stay on topic, I happened to hear from fairly reliable sources about Balthazar's neat little trick to send you two away… and well I was just SOLD! A dimension with no magic that you can't escape from without outside help. Could there be a better place to send all your problems?" Satan asked the two brothers smiling. He then turned and began to draw the familiar symbol on the side of the cube.

Silence reigned for a minute as the devil continued to finger paint with blood on the side of the giant black rock box.

"You know… if I were you… I'd take this time to get a head start." Lucifer mentioned mildly. "Killing you is next on my to-do list."

The Winchesters needed no further encouragement. In seconds they were in their car and disappearing down the road. Lucifer watched them go with a smile.

"This is really just turning out to be a great day." He said to no one in particular. And with another smile, he turned and rammed his palm into the symbol on the giant black cube, activating the spell.

In a flash the cube was gone, leaving the devil standing alone on a deserted country road. Well, not quite alone. Fishing in his pocket he produced a cellphone. He pressed a number and held it to his ear.

"It's the devil. Your friend is no longer in the picture." Lucifer said into the phone. He waited for a moment, and then spoke again.

"To be honest, he didn't put up much at all… but I suppose we had the 'element of surprise' and all." He paused again.

"Yes quite. Oh and one more thing: I do believe I managed to get something to repay you for your services. A rather unique gift."

The devil turned around to where the TARDIS was hovering, a few feet away.

"I'm sure you'll like it."

10


	11. Chapter 11 - A Whole New World

Chapter 11

Doctor **Who**

A Whole New World

It was dark.

And it was silent.

Inside the Pandorica, the setting was indescribable without the use of those two adjectives. The combination resulted in a sort of void with neither beginning nor end, an emptiness that filled the prison and completely engulfed the imprisoned. It was the kind of emptiness that absorbed every noise, every plea, every everything that was extended into it. It was almost as if nothing more was permitted to exist beyond the dark and the silence.

It was enough to drive any man mad. Arguably fortunate however, the Time Lord in question was already quite mad. He was therefore, in no danger.

As he came to full awareness of his surroundings, the Pandorica woke up around him, responding to his brain activity. The eerie green glow crept from the corners of the space and grew to fill the prison, banishing the dark that had only moments before been so endless.

It took the Time Lord a second to register his surroundings. First he tensed and inadvertently strained against the bars holding his arms. Then he relaxed and looked around, half alarmed, half curious. Finally he sat back again resignedly, reviewing just what he remembered.

"Well. I suppose I've woken up in worse situations." The Doctor joked to the unresponsive prison. The smile died on his face as he stared off into space, thinking. However, the very effort caused a sharp pain to pierce the inside of his skull.

"Ohhhhh my head… something about that confrontation went decidedly wrong." The Doctor muttered to himself, as he leaned forward to rest his head on his manacled arms.

"You're telling me."

The Doctor froze. Something was not quite right.

Those words had come from his mouth.

Had he just… replied to himself?

"No. You're not that crazy. Not yet." It was his mouth that spoke the words again, but this time, being fully aware, the Doctor heard, inside his head, a different voice speaking the words as he forcibly spoke them aloud.

"What? Canton?! Is that you?! Stop that!"

"What, not having fun?"

"How are you-?! I said to cut that out!"

"Do you want me to answer your question or not?"

The Doctor fell silent. He argued with himself enough internally. This was a whole new level.

"Alright. Explain. And make it quick."

"Well we're not exactly going anywhere at the moment, are we?"

"I said make it quick."

"Well, it's very simple really. Someone, probably of the Satanic nature, dropped a giant box on us and it crushed me. In the 2.56 microseconds I had, I jumped from my own beloved corporeal form to yours. Pure survival, I promise. I would never purposefully take a form with such an… unusual fashion sense as yours."

The Doctor took this in for a moment.

"So you're possessing me."

"You make it sound like a bad thing."

"Get out."

"If you haven't noticed there's not exactly anywhere to move to. Besides, I've never taken up residence in a Time Lord before. There's so much… space in this head of yours. Actually quite comfortable. And yet, despite the space, your thoughts!... well let's just say they're a far cry more interesting than those of Earth's favorite mud-monkeys. "

"You stay away from those!

"'I've always considered keep out signs as more of a suggestion than an actual order…'"

"You're not being funny Canton! I'm being serious! There are things no one should ever see!"

"I'll say. Those High Council Time Lord robes, for starters."

"CANTON!"

There was no response for a moment, and the doctor struggled involuntarily against the restraints with a scowl on his face.

"Strictly speaking it's not actually Canton, Doctor. The name's Crowley."

"That's right… you're a _demon _aren't you? Huh. Sounds more like a _demon_ name I suppose…" The Doctor paused, eyes losing focus for a moment. "Canton's much more likeable. Both the name **and** the person… "

Crowley had no response to this. In the momentary silence, something occurred to the Doctor.

"How long had you been possessing Canton before you wore him to his death?" The Doctor asked, a quiet fury just beneath the surface of his words.

"That's beside the point. We need to focus on the situation at hand: You know, the one where we're both imprisoned in a giant cube with no discernible door? As much as I like you, it's demeaning, sharing a meat suit with anyone. But getting out of this mess is going to take the best of both our skills, so I am peaceably suggesting we work together." Crowley offered courteously, simultaneously changing the subject. The Doctor was silent for a moment.

"If you need my skills, why don't you just take over my form completely? Isn't that how possession typically works?" The Doctor asked icily.

"Well it might have been because I had a smidgeon of respect for you, but seeing as that is rapidly growing smaller by the minute, it must be the practical purpose that you know how to drive your weird alien form with two hearts much better than I." Crowley said, his impatience growing by the minute.

"Why would I work with you? Demons have tortured humanity for as long as I've been visiting the planet. Those are the very same humans I've worked to protect time and time again."

"Then you're wasting your time. They're self-serving ignoramuses who are somehow very content to stay that way. I'm not sure how much you know about my business, but I assure you the definition of a _deal_ remains the same; it is always made with free will on both sides of the table. Trying to save them accomplishes nothing; they will always continue to line up to destroy themselves." Crowley replied scornfully. The Doctor was quiet again.

"Look. All I'm asking for you to do is momentarily forget that I'm 'spawn of hell' and just work with me as if I'm still Canton. A new and improved Canton." Crowley said tiredly.

"I would rather have you a thousand times over with no supernatural talents and a good heart," the Doctor said steely, "but alright."

"Good. I'm glad we cleared that up." Crowley said, sounding pleased. "Now do you have any plan on how to get out of here?"

"Not a clue. This is the Pandorica. It was designed to be the impossible prison for me specifically. Works pretty well in that respect." The Doctor said tiredly, peering around at their tight surroundings.

"Well your obviously here now, so how did you get out of it the first time?" Crowley asked thoughtfully. The Doctor felt his memories coming up automatically for Crowley's viewing.

"There's nothing helpful in that story. Someone opened it from the outside." The Doctor told him.

"Well there must be something we can do besides sit here." Crowley said edgily.

"The only difference between then and now is you being here in my head. So if you have any supernatural abilities that would be helpful, now would be the time to put them to use."

It was at that exact moment the entirety of the Pandorica winked out of existence around them. The Doctor (and Crowley) fell to the ground in a disoriented heap.

"CUT CUT!" A voice sounded off to their right. "WHO THE HELL IS THAT?!"

"Well that… was effective…what did you do exactly?" The Doctor muttered to Crowley as he recovered himself.

"Hey mate… you alright?" A familiar voice asked from somewhere above. The Time Lord looked up to respond but soon found he could not form words on account of shock.

There, looking genuinely concerned, was Canton/Crowley in the flesh.

"I… uh…" The Doctor stammered. Suddenly his jaw went slack and a thick red smoke that tasted of sulfur poured forth, straight from the Time Lord to the man. As soon as the transition was complete, the Doctor felt a sudden lightness in the head, and nearly collapsed again. Crowley reached out a hand to steady him.

"What… just happened?" The Doctor asked.

"Found a new meat suit that's what. Always fancied this face." Crowley said, somewhat contentedly.

"That's not possible… yours was crushed. Wait a moment." The Doctor's face contorted. Glancing around, he saw people starting to gather, staring at them. He licked a finger and tested the air. After a millisecond he nodded.

"New dimension. A parallel one. They sent us to a new dimension in the box." The Time Lord informed Crowley who looked extremely annoyed and more than a little bit concerned. There was a decent sized crowd around them now.

"Dammit. That would explain why they've been obsessing over…" Crowley was cut off by two security guards shoving forward.

"Stop right where you are! I don't know how you got in here, but you're on private property mister! You're going to have to leave!" One of the security guards told the Doctor, forcefully grabbing him by the arm. The other followed suit, and soon the Doctor found himself being escorted away from Crowley, who was left standing there, uncertainty on his face.

"I'll find you later! Just remember… it's another dimension! Everything's different!" The Doctor called to him. One of the guards prodded him sharply. "Okay, okay! I'm moving! No need to get rough!"

As he was led away, the Doctor became aware that they had arrived in the middle of a studio of some sort, judging by the cameras and the various technical crews stationed around. The security guards led the Time Lord roughly through a heavy set of doors out into the bright sunlight. A short march later brought them to an impressive gate.

"Hiya Sieben. What have we here?" Another guard stationed at the gate came forward.

"Dial the cops. This joker is to be charged with breaking and entering." The guard holding the Doctor said briskly. The gate guard nodded and returned to his kiosk to make the call.

"You know, I didn't really break anything. I was honestly just looking for the loo… I think this is all just a big mistake. I'll be on my way if you'll just let me-" The Doctor started casually but was cut off.

"Be quiet you little creep. I've dealt with you fans before. Downright messed up in the head, the lot of you."

"But I'm not…" The Doctor protested again.

"Cops are on their way." The gate guard stuck his head out of the kiosk. "You'll soon get what's coming to you."

"Apparently." The Doctor said, dismally giving in.

5


	12. Chapter 12 - Drinks and Deductions on Me

Chapter 12

Sher**Lock**

Drinks and Deductions on Me

"You let him go?!"

"Well sir, he wasn't exactly much of a threat. And CW decided not to press charges."

"Do you even have the slightest idea who he was?!"

"Since CW decided not to press charges, we had no need to hold him further or investigate."

"And I suppose by extension that also gave you a legitimate excuse to be a decidedly horrid failure at your job? That man was the only clue to stopping an entire wave of crime that will be arriving shortly. Crimes more apocalyptic than you can possibly imagine. And you just let him walk out."

"I'm sorry sir, I didn't…"

"Save your words. They're no good to anyone now except maybe to appease your own ridiculously incompetent conscience. But I doubt they will be much condolence in that line of work either…" Sherlock Holmes turned disgustedly and left the police station, leaving the young police officer shell-shocked in his wake.

Stopping briefly, Sherlock took a deep breath of Canadian air to clear his head. This sort of absurd mess would have never happened back home. He had never thought much of Scotland Yard when he'd worked with them, but now working with these local Mounties... Lestrade rarely moved a muscle without double checking with Sherlock first. It was practical procedure, and Sherlock had only begun to realize now how much he had taken for granted.

What were his options now? Sherlock turned his thoughts back to the case at hand – the one that was rapidly slipping through his fingers. For the moment the case didn't technically exist, since the police had let Smith go and CW wasn't pressing charges. But the connections between the break-in at Johnson's and this second Canadian break-in were too obvious to ignore. Both times it was unknown how the break-in was accomplished, and nothing had been taken. Only curious encounters with a few choice witnesses. Sherlock had the vague feeling some message was lying behind Smith's words from both occasions… he just had to find it.

What he would give to talk to those witnesses. Unfortunately Johnson was out of the question, due to distance and the fact she was John's psychiatrist. The other possibility, Mark Sheppard, the actor with whom Smith had exchanged words, had not been seen since the incident at the studio. Sherlock had done a search on the actor; he had appeared with Smith before in a television show back home. The only other 'Brit' in the equation, and he had disappeared. The more the detective dug into this problem, the more it reeked of Moriarty's games.

He needed someone to bounce ideas off of, but there was a small problem: everyone he knew thought he was dead. Watson was miles away across the sea, dealing with 'trauma', whatever that meant. Mycroft wasn't even worth considering. Everyone else… idiots anyway. As he was undercover and had no friends among the force here, obtaining a skull was even less of a good idea than announcing to the world he had returned from the grave. Pulling his scarf around him tighter against the chilly Canadian wind, Sherlock had never felt so alone.

"I need a drink… something stronger than tea…" Sherlock muttered eventually.

Turning, he moved to the road side. After a couple tries, he finally successfully hailed a taxi.

"Moonlight Motel." Sherlock informed the driver, after checking to make sure said driver was neither a serial killer nor Moriarty. With a nod, the driver set off. The motel was, as mentioned before, a rather shady establishment. And like all shady establishments of its kind, it had a shady bar attached. It wasn't the type of place he frequented for pleasure – Sherlock Holmes frequented nowhere except the morgue for pleasure – but he had no ID with which to purchase alcohol for himself in a respectable bar. Plus there was always the type that DID frequent the bar… individuals of questionable trades that provided a sort of entertainment for the detective to read.

As the taxi pulled up in front of the motel, it was almost dark. Stopping by his room momentarily, Sherlock scrounged about and located some money. There wasn't much left of it, but Sherlock figured he might as well spend it. As he stuffed his pockets with the cash, he once again noticed a familiar article of clothing: His coat. Fingering the fabric, a rare genuine smile crossed the detective's usually stoic features.

"Growing nostalgic, Sherlock?" the detective asked himself out loud. After a second, he made up his mind and swung the coat around, putting it on. Something seemed to click into place – a part of him perhaps. Sherlock paused for a moment to relish the feeling. Then he turned and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

Strolling across the darkened parking lot to the bar, the evening seemed unusually quiet. If he were a criminal like Moriarty, the detective thought wryly, the night was a perfect one for something to go terribly wrong.

As he pulled the creaking screened door open, a wave of cigarette smoke greeted the detective. Breathing it in heavily, Sherlock was reminded of Watson's chronic disapproval. The thought made him feel almost guilty, and even more nostalgic. What was wrong with him today?

Waving a dismissive hand at the waitress who looked up at his entry, Sherlock walked over to a booth and seated himself. While waiting for the waitress to bring him a menu, he cast a general eye over the crowd populating the dimly lit space.

There were two decidedly shifty people in the booth behind him, making some sort of deal, the nature of which was clearly not legal. Across the tables there was a low-wage couple who were going through their fifth 'tough time' this year – the frustration was clear on both their faces. At the bar there was a dishonest business man losing himself in alcohol, and down at the far end of the bar there was a prostitute desperately trying to get the attention of…

"What'll it be?" the waitress asked with a tired fake smile.

"A new seat I think." Sherlock was already moving. It was impossible. It couldn't be.

It was.

Stalking over to the two of them, Sherlock tapped the girl on the shoulder. As she turned, he thrust a five into her hand.

"Here's what you really want. You don't even have to deliver the goods. Now do us both a favor and go home to rethink your life." He said swiftly without giving her a second glance. The girl stared at the money for a second then at the detective. She wisely decided it wasn't worth the trouble of staying, and she slunk away in the direction of the business man. But Sherlock wasn't paying attention to her anymore. His eyes were Mr. Matt Smith, the one and only. The man who had eluded Sherlock all day had his head in his hands, an unfinished dinner resting on the bar before him.

Taking a seat, Sherlock motioned for the bartender.

"Can I get you a drink, friend? You look like you've had a rough day." the detective spoke to Smith casually without looking at him.

"Yeah actually. I'm a bit short on cash at the moment… but I'll have some of the strong stuff. Earl Grey." Came the cheeky response. The bartender gave Sherlock a look, but Sherlock waved for him to fill the order.

"So… what brings you to these parts?" Sherlock asked, straining to keep things casual despite desperately wanting to interrogate the man head on.

"Not quite sure… I do believe I took a wrong turn somewhere along the way. Got separated from a friend… though I'm not sure he's a friend actually… more of an acquaintance really."

"What do you mean by that?" Sherlock probed. At this Smith looked up.

"You ask a lot of questions, for a guy in a backwater Canadian motel." He said, eyeing Sherlock. The detective cringed inwardly. He hadn't played it safe enough.

"Just curious." Sherlock said shrugging.

"No you're not." Smith said, eyes narrowed.

"Sorry?" Sherlock asked, taken aback.

"I said, "No, you're not". As in, no, you are not just curious. You are hanging on my every word. I can tell by your posture. You are here buying me a drink because you think I have something you want. Look at you. Your accent is British, a far cry different from the locals, and your coat is London fashion, though judging by the fact it hasn't been properly washed for quite some time, I'd say you're away from home for a reason other than vacation, though it's not official day business. From the way came directly to me from that booth, I'd say you were hunting me down. The only thing I don't know is 'Why?'" Smith said, breaking it down for Sherlock.

For perhaps the first moment in history, Sherlock Holmes sat there, completely lost for words. Whatever he had been expecting, it was not that.

"Are you just going to stand there staring at me, or are you going to tell me why you're here?" Smith asked critically. Sherlock shook off his initial shock and kicked his own brain back into gear.

"Your observations are impressive, but if you know that I came for you, you shouldn't play games. You know exactly why I'm here. You don't exactly blend into the crowd either, do you? British accent, like mine. Tweed jacket, bow tie… and two theft-free, seemingly illogical breaking and entering's within the last two weeks on separate continents."

"Ah… so I've stirred the pot a little. Isn't a bloke allowed to travel?" Smith asked with a half-hearted smile, turning to the bar as his tea arrived.

"Your slumped posture suggests personal loss, and the tightness of your grip on your cup says you tried to do something about it… which only led to a bigger mess. Possibly the one you're in now." Sherlock said, watching him.

"You weren't sitting so upright a moment ago at your booth. I'd venture a guess I'm not the only one experiencing 'personal loss'."

"Your clothes are four decades past their prime. Either you have a terrible fashion sense or you mean to stick out."

"Bow ties are cool." Smith said stubbornly with a smile, eyeing Sherlock over, "And scarves of that design are only worn by people who think rather highly of themselves."

"I know who you are."

"I doubt that very much."

"And I know you know who I am."

"I am absolutely sure you're wrong on that one."

"Why did you break into the CW studio?" Sherlock challenged. Smith looked up at this.

"I didn't break in! I was deliberately misled there."

"Misled past security cameras and guards?"

"…yes."

"Do I look like an idiot?"

"I tastefully choose to withhold my answer to that question." Smith replied, turning back to his tea.

"I know you're working with Moriarty, Smith." Sherlock said calmly, watching the other man.

"Oh yes. And I suppose that makes you…" Smith said waving his hands in the air exaggeratedly. Suddenly he stopped and turned to Sherlock, looking at him in a whole new light.

"What did you say your name was?" He asked, suddenly very serious.

"Holmes. Sherlock Holmes. At your service." Sherlock said smugly. He knew he shouldn't be spreading the word that he wasn't dead, but if Smith was working for Moriarty, he already knew.

"By the… you really are aren't you?! Haha! I hadn't even considered!" Smith looked genuinely delighted at the idea. "I should have known from all that…" Smith gestured, "deducing!"

"Indeed..." Sherlock said, starting to feel wary at Smith's unusual reaction. Still, he felt that slight ripple of pride that came with praise. He'd forgotten what it was like to have someone fawning over his abilities. But he quickly dismissed it. This man did work for Moriarty after all.

"But where's the good doctor?" Smith asked with a grin. "Tell me you have a Watson!"

At this Sherlock stopped short. His stomach hit rock bottom.

Was Moriarty telling him something was about to happen to John? Had something already happened? Instantly Sherlock grabbed Smith by the collar and held him close, much to the man's surprise.

"What is he planning for John? We had a deal he'd be left alone." Sherlock said, dead serious. Smith looked genuinely bewildered.

"I think, not for the first time, that you have me confused with someone else." Smith said, slightly concerned.

"Moriarty. What does he have planned? I know you work for him."

"Moriarty? You mean the criminal mastermind? No, I don't work for him! That's absurd!" Smith said half laughing. Sherlock slightly lessened his grip. Smith took the opportunity to pull out of his grasp.

"But you…"

"You know, I've never been accused of working with a criminal mastermind before. That is a first." Smith said, holding up a finger with another grin. Sherlock considered this new development. On one hand, he didn't believe Smith. Everything about these events pointed to Moriarty, but Smith was one factor that didn't fit the equation. Everyone who worked for Moriarty was terrified by the name. Then again, Smith was an actor. Perhaps this was just more of the game. Whatever it was, Sherlock was absolutely certain Smith was the key for the moment.

"Honestly, if that's the best you've got, you're not the Sherlock Holmes I expected. Then again, I wasn't really 'expecting' you to exist at all. Especially in this time period."

"I… don't follow." Sherlock said, eyeing Smith.

"Look at you. Positively modern. The universe never ceases to amaze I suppose." Smith said, looking Sherlock over, clearly very delighted.

Sherlock didn't really know what to say to this. Was it part of the game? Should he be taking notes?

"Hey wait a minute!" Smith said suddenly. "You really solve mysteries don't you?"

"I suppose you could say that…" Sherlock said cautiously.

"I don't suppose… you work a case for me? A murder?" Smith asked with a sad smile. Sherlock considered it for a moment.

He decided he'd play the game for now.

"I… don't see why not." Sherlock said, gesturing for Smith to continue.

"Excellent. You won't regret it. It's… quite an unusual case. I'm beginning to think I've got the wrong suspects… I guess you'll be the judge of that." Smith said happily. He took another gulp of his tea and then stood. Sherlock followed suit, throwing down some change to cover the bill, all the while not taking his eyes off the curious man.

"Lead the way." the detective moved aside to allow Smith to go first. With a jaunty stride, Smith did so, opening the door and heading out into the night with Sherlock matching his stride close behind, though the detective walked with less of a jaunt and more of a stalk.

"To be honest, we first have to figure out how to return to the crime scene… my, er, vehicle and I were separated. But I'm a firm believer in optimism, and I'm sure my friend will have come up with some sort of idea by now, if we can find him. He's a regular demon as far as plans go…" Smith carried on. Sherlock merely followed, wondering just what he was getting into.

"Oh and by the way, I'm not sure what you meant by that 'Smith' stuff… that's only a fake name really. Generally I go by 'the Doctor' or just 'Doctor'." Smith told Sherlock, as they walked.

"Doctor? Doctor Who?" Sherlock asked.

"I love it when they say that." The Doctor said with another smile.

7


	13. Chapter 13 - The Second Coming

Chapter 13

**Super**natural

The Second Coming of Our Time Lord

"We are so dead."

"Mmm-hmm."

"I mean, we are really screwed."

"Yeah. We are."

"I mean, we are so dead, you could put us out on the street and put up a sign that says, 'Roadkill'."

"Yes Dean, I think we get the picture, thanks."

"We are so dead."

At this Sam finally could take no more. Glancing up from his laptop, he gave his brother a cross look.

"Isn't there something more productive you can do with your time?" He asked critically.

"What's the point? We're dead meat anyway." Dean said, staring at the ceiling from his position on the bed, dead-eyed. "I mean, last time we barely came out on top. This time I don't even know how to begin to stop the Apocalypse. Bobby's gone. Crowley's gone. Cas is probably captured or worse… And to top it off, we're not 'untouchable' anymore. In fact, we're the opposite! Both the God Squad and the Pit are AFTER us!"

"Well whining about it isn't going to help." Sam pointed out. Dean gave him a look.

"I'm being serious. We're in trouble here. I'm not sure how we're going to pull through this one." Dean said darkly.

"Well I have an idea where to start. I've been going over Crowley's file again. These 'Time Lords' are a new factor… if one's operating behind the scenes there's probably more to this Apocalypse than meets the eye." Sam started carefully.

"So? It's still the Apocalypse. Kind of warrants our primary attention, first and foremost."

"Yes… but if these Time Lords have the firepower to strut around in Hell and open Lucifer's cage…" Sam said thoughtfully. "Maybe…"

"Maybe… they could slam them both in there again?" Dean finished Sam's thought, sitting up, interested. "Just like last time… with a sci-fi twist. But we're fresh out of Time Lord."

"Not exactly. Remember what Lucifer said? He sent them to… THAT dimension. The same one Balthazar sent US to. The one without magic or any supernatural… stuff." Sam gestured, unable to conjure more sophisticated vocabulary to describe THAT place.

"The dimension can't be escaped from inside… but it can if you have someone helping you on THIS side." Sam said, recalling the memory of that particular venture.

"So… rescue mission?" Dean surmised. Sam nodded. Dean took a deep breath and looked away. "God I hoped we'd never have to go back to that place…"

"Well first we're going to need a few things…" Sam said, pulling Bobby's journal out of a bag and flipping through it.

"Shopping?" Dean asked.

"Shopping." Sam acknowledged.

. . .

It didn't take Crowley too long to find the Doctor, wandering a back alley, looking for a weak point for a dimensional breach with his sonic screwdriver. The Time Lord gave off a sort of supernatural aura that distinguished him from the insignificant humans around him. Curiously enough, he seemed to have picked up someone along the way.

"You would not believe the day I've had." the demon said in greeting to the Time Lord. He set down his load, a heavy milk jug full of blood and nodded to the newcomer, who was eyeing the aforementioned milk carton rather warily.

"Ah Canton. I was hoping you'd turn up sooner or later. How did you fare today?"

"It's Crowley, remember? And in answer to your question, absolutely terribly. I'd heard of this damnable place without magic but… well let's just say I never intended to be trapped here. Who's this?" Crowley asked critically, eyeing Sherlock.

"This, my dear demon, is none other than Sherlock Holmes himself! He actually exists in this dimension!" The Doctor said, delightedly showing Sherlock off as if he was a toy.

"Right." Crowley said, looking a bit skeptical, "That sheds absolutely no light on why he's here."

"I… need his help on something." The Doctor said reticently. Crowley looked unconvinced.

"What do YOU need a detective for?"

"Consulting detective, actually." Sherlock corrected.

"Whatever makes you feel better, Miss Marple." Crowley said patronizingly.

"I-" Sherlock opened his mouth to retort but was stopped by the Doctor's swift intervention.

"I need him." The Doctor said firmly. "He's going to help solve a murder. I'm beginning to think my original two suspects were framed… somehow."

"The Winchesters? I could have told you that." Crowley said impatiently. "Those idiots are sadly the closest thing America has to 'righteous heroes'."

"So I've read… and then there was no motive at all for them to go back in time and… anyway, I'm hoping Mr. Holmes here can help with that." The Doctor said eagerly.

"I wouldn't bet money on it." Crowley said, still critical. "I'd be surprised if his mind didn't snap completely when he starts seeing the fireworks. Then he'll be nothing but dead weight." The Doctor looked away at this. Crowley sighed.

"Well I suppose you're entitled to your ridiculous plans, just as much as I am." the demon gave in. The Doctor, though half surprised at the easy win, flashed him a grateful, semi-triumphant smile.

"So if you're Sherlock, where's the good doctor?" Crowley asked sardonically, turning to Sherlock after a moment. At this Sherlock flinched again, before promptly pulling out his phone.

"Please, don't mind me." he said curtly, before turning away. Dialing a number he had clearly memorized by heart, he held the phone up to his ear. It rang for a few tense seconds as the demon and the Time Lord looked on.

"…hullo?" a very sleepy voice sounded at the other end. Sherlock quickly hung, up breathing a sigh of relief. Crowley shot a questioning look at the Doctor, who shrugged.

"I don't know what you're playing at… but as long as John's not involved, I'll play you're your game." Sherlock said, returning to the other two.

"Did you drop him on the way here, or has he always been this special?" Crowley asked the Doctor with a raised eyebrow. The Doctor had no answer for him. Sherlock looked somewhere between annoyed and obsessed with everything that was going on.

"Whatever floats your boat." Crowley said shrugging. "Just hold onto your knickers Mr. I-only-operate-in-the-mundane-world. Things are about to get beyond your level."

"I don't believe such a level exists." Sherlock retorted.

"I guess we'll find out, won't we?" Crowley said with a curt smile. Then he turned to the Doctor.

"What's the story on the breach?" the demon asked, down to business. At this the Doctor perked up, happy to have something to occupy his mind other than the tense relations. With a flourish, he pulled out the sonic screwdriver and scanned the wall another time. Glancing at the readings, the Time Lord sighed and stood back, looking at the wall.

"Well… this seems to be one of the better weak points. Besides the TV filming set that is. Though I still don't think it will be enough to get through again." the Time Lord said sadly.

"Give me some good news for a change. You said something about getting a message through over the phone…? Tell me I didn't go to all this trouble for nothing."

"Ah yes. Basically… the tiniest bits of magic bleed through these weak points. Here in this alley, and back at the Supernatural set… it's why you were still able to take a new form when we first arrived… and why theoretically we should be able to make a call…" for the first time the Doctor noticed the jug of blood.

"Where did you get that?" He asked Crowley immediately.

"It's not important." Crowley waved the matter off. The Doctor's eyes narrowed.

"I didn't kill anyone if that's what you're worried about." Crowley said, rolling his eyes. The Doctor eyed him suspiciously for a moment, but continued.

"And that's it really. The idea is that we'll be able to get through to someone in OUR dimension and then have them open the dimensional rift again… but I haven't the slightest whom to call… or how…" The Doctor trailed off, feeling for once quite out of his area of expertise.

"Well that's where I come in." Crowley said professionally, as he knelt and began to set up the blood communication.

"What about the box though? The Pandorica? It was science, not magic. Yet it disappeared when we got here, and, much as I'd like to claim the credit, it wasn't me." Crowley asked as he worked methodically.

"That's another matter to worry about altogether…" The Doctor said, frowning as if the matter had crossed his mind as well, "The Pandorica was originally created and sustained by a stream of subconscious thoughts from a mind. Logically, the Pandorica we were trapped worked the same way. When we arrived here, the link was severed by dimensional distance, and so the Pandorica ceased to exist. But…" the Doctor trailed off again.

" 'But' is never a good thing in my experience." Crowley prompted.

"The timeline in which the original Pandorica existed was erased and re-written. The universe was rebooted, so to speak. There are only three other people besides myself who remember that lost timeline… and would be able to remember the Pandorica… and two of them are dead."

"Sounds like we have a pretty good lead when we get back then." Crowley summarized. The Doctor looked uncertain.

"On my side of things, it took me all day to get this, and even then I'm not sure if it'll work. This cup is a prop, hardly the real deal. But I figure that with the magic bleeding through… well you get the idea." Crowley said, gesturing to the ancient looking goblet with runes on it he had produced.

"What about the blood?" Sherlock asked, nodding to the jug.

"Well that's never hard to come by, is it?" Crowley said with a small smile. At this information, Sherlock's face turned a shade paler, much to Crowley's satisfaction.

"It's not as fresh as I usually deal with… but hopefully it should do the trick."

"Just make the call." The Doctor said irritably. Crowley could tell the Time Lord's conscience was bothering him. Working with a demon and all.

"Hold your horses. Let's just hope someone's on the other end ready to pick up the phone."

. . .

"…_.ss…. ssss…..chest….r…"_

The noise wasn't very loud, but since the cup was very close to Sam's head, it disturbed the younger Winchester slightly in his sleep. With a bit of a shuffle, the tall hunter rearranged his arms to form a more comfortable pillow, before setting his head back down on them.

"…_.winchester!..."_

This time the whispered call came through slightly stronger, jolting Sam fully awake. Looking around he saw no one. Maybe it was time he went to bed for real.

"…_answer…moron..." _the whisper was slight and hard to understand, but certainly there. For the first time, Sam noticed the cup and nearly fell over himself to pick it up.

"Hello?! Crowley is that you?!" Sam asked quickly, bending over the bloody cup.

"_Do you get frequent calls by blood ritual from other people, Moose? It's about time you morons picked up."_ Crowley's annoyed voice came through.

"DEAN! DEAN I'VE GOT THEM ON CALL!" Sam shouted through the house to his brother. He heard a thud followed by the older Winchester yelling something as Dean presumably fell out of bed.

"We didn't think you'd made it. You were crushed by giant cube… " Sam explained to the demon. "We only have the blood call set up because we thought one of us would have to go in ourselves to get the Time Lord. Is he with you?"

"_Glad to know you're concerned about me. Yes, he's safe and sound with me. I even cleared up a bit of your issue with him. But we need you to open the portal back through." _Crowley told Sam, who was momentarily distracted by Dean hobbling into the room, trying to simultaneously put on a shirt and a pair of jeans.

"Is that Crowley?" Dean asked frowning. Sam nodded briefly before turning back to the call.

"We've got the stuff to open the door. But we're not quite sure about how to pull it off. Don't you need to be in the same place you came through?" Sam asked the demon. He heard vague swearing on the other end of the line.

"_Yeah we do. Unfortunately we came through on the green screen set of some damned show starring you two morons."_ Crowley said, sounding disgruntled.

"Once again – who would want to watch our lives?" Dean philosophized at no one in particular.

"How soon do you think you can get back there?" Sam asked, ignoring his brother.

"_Half an hour maybe? Everything's closed right now, but we shouldn't have too much trouble breaking in."_

"Alright. We'll open the portal at 2:56 A.M. Sound good?"

"_We'll be there. Just make sure you play your part as flawlessly as you two apes are capable of. Maybe we'll have a chance."_ and with that the demon hung up. Or stopped talking into the bloody cup as it were.

"Huh. He's not very good when it comes to gratitude, is he?" Sam said, looking into the depths of the cup, before setting it down.

"Neither end of the celestial scale is particularly good with that emotion." Dean said shrugging.

"Speaking of which, still no word from Cas?" Sam asked him. Dean shook his head.

"Ah. Sorry bro. Maybe he's just busy." Sam suggested, even though he didn't believe it himself.

Dean was silent at this, and Sam eyed his brother warily. Dean tended to get like this whenever something big was looming over them. Snappy, moody… constantly worrying. It was especially bad when Castiel was involved. They hadn't exactly signed legal papers, but the little trench-coated angel was family in all but name and blood.

"Well… come on. We'd better go get Crowley and 'the Doctor'. The sooner we fix this mess the better." Dean said, shouldering a duffle bag and heading out the door, salt shotgun in hand. Sam followed suit, shutting the laptop and grabbing his own gun off the table.

The ride in the Impala was short, uneventful, and quiet. They knew they had reached the spot when the headlights of the car lit up the dark stain on the pavement that used to be Crowley.

As Sam got out the ingredients for the spell, Dean checked the perimeter. Neither of the Winchesters expected Lucifer to have stayed around, but playing it safe when it came to the devil was never a bad idea. After walking around the edge of where the Impala lights reached twice, Dean came back to his brother.

"Nothing. How goes the spell, Harry?" Dean asked Sam.

"Everything seems to be in the right place…" Sam said standing back. "What's the time?" Sam looked at Dean, who pulled his sleeve up to check his watch.

"2:54 on the dot." Dean informed him. "We have a couple of minutes." Sam nodded and the two stood in silence, lost in their own thoughts.

"How did Crowley survive?" Sam asked after a moment. "He was pretty crushed by that block."

"I dunno. He must have escaped smoke-like right into the box." Dean shrugged.

"But it all happened so quickly… it seems a little impossible." Sam said slowly.

"What, you think something fishy is going on?" Dean asked. Sam looked at him.

"That's exactly what I think." the younger Winchester said seriously. Dean looked unconvinced at this.

"I don't know… he and Lucifer aren't exactly on good terms…"

"But Lucifer's on even worse terms with us. It would have been in Crowley's best interest to sell us out to save his own skin and prove himself a loyal servant…"

"Alright. I see your point." Dean stopped Sam's listing. "I just think now's not the time to be worried about our only allies."

"Would you rather them stab us in the back? Again?" Sam asked critically, Dean said nothing but glanced at his watch again.

"It's 2:56. You'd better open the gate." Dean said at last. Sam gave Dean another look, then bent down and painted a last symbol on the ground.

"Well that's it. We don't have the box they originally went through, but…" As Sam stood back admiring his handiwork, the red runes painted on the ground began to glow. A strong wind began to whip around the Winchesters.

"Well something seems to be working!" Dean shouted to his brother. Indeed the noise of the wind was growing with every second. The symbols on the road were likewise glowing brighter and brighter.

After a few seconds of the commotion, everything suddenly died down to a quiet stillness. Dean was about to ask if it had failed when there was a noise like shattering glass and the pavement exploded upward, knocking both Dean and Sam backward.

As bits of gravel and dust rained down, two choking Winchesters struggled back towards where the portal had been. A small crater was now burned into the road at that place, and in the midst of the hole were three filthy and disoriented figures.

"Through the pavement? Oh that was a BRILLIANT idea!" a familiar voice sounded out through the mess.

"We didn't exactly have much of a choice in the matter. We came through at this spot the first time, we had to go back through this spot! Besides, look on the bright side, it's not every day you get to blast through concrete! Ah, here are your two friends. Hello!" A new cheery voice greeted the Winchesters.

"Hello boys. For once it's good to see you." Crowley grumbled a greeting to the Winchesters. They numbly nodded back, watching the dimensional travelers clambering out of the sizable depression in the road.

Once they were out of the smoking crater, Crowley began to dust himself off irritably. The other speaker didn't seem to notice the grime, and instead stepped forward jovially, presenting a dirty hand to the Winchesters.

"Hullo! I'm the Doctor!" the Time Lord said with a bright smile that contrasted sharply against his sooty features. A hesitant Sam shook his hand warily.

"I'm rather sorry about earlier. I do believe I confused you two for a pair of murderers…er, that was me who put the subspace displacement instigator in your car… and then again in the box chasing your car… You put up quite a chase I must say! Never had someone keep ahead of me that long!"

"Right…" Sam said with an uncertain grin and a sideways glance at Dean. He couldn't quite believe this was the extraterrestrial entity capable of saving them all.

"But she is quite a model, isn't she? The '67 Impala! There was never quite another car like it. Except maybe the '256 model. Now there was an escape car… WILL be for you linear time travellers, I suppose." The Doctor carried on with a wide smile, as Dean likewise accepted the enthusiastic handshake warily.

"Much as I love a good chat, this isn't exactly a social call. We really ought to be moving. Preferably to somewhere with angel and demon warding. Anything happened since our short vacation?" Crowley asked the Winchesters, cutting off the sociable Doctor.

"Well, after you left, Lucifer practically let us escape though, which can't be good." Dean informed the demon. "Other than that we've heard general reports of world ending signs starting up again. I have some thirty messages on my phone… All in all, it seems like it's gonna be Apocalypse Round II."

"Round II?" the Doctor asked, confused.

"We can have a chat later. The important thing to do now is move our little party to somewhere safe. This may be second time for some of us, but don't think for a second that anything is going to be the same." Crowley told them, looking first to the Doctor then the Winchesters.

"Alright. We can take my ride!" The Doctor turned around enthusiastically, only to stop short. The TARDIS was nowhere to be seen.

"…Where's my ship?" the Time Lord asked looking around. Crowley looked up sharply at this. His gaze lighted upon the Winchesters, both of whom fidgeted unhappily.

"Ah… about that…" Sam said, looking apologetic. The Doctor's face drained of color as he instantly knew what Sam was implying.

"She's gone?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper. Sam nodded sheepishly. The Doctor looked away, calculating, his face betraying a mind in turmoil. It wasn't just the Time Lord who was upset at this news either; Crowley was clearly disturbed at this update as well.

"That," the demon said, staring off into space thinking hard, "is very bad news."

"Our best guess is that Lucifer took it with him after we left…" Sam surmised unhelpfully. Neither demon nor Time Lord looked reassured. However when the Doctor turned back to them again, the emotion had been stashed away. After glancing at the Doctor, Crowley stepped forward to reiterate their need for haste.

"It's something we'll have to worry about another time. Right now we…"

"Hey. What's up with London fashion over there?" Dean suddenly noticed Sherlock who was still standing in the smoking crater, covered head to foot in soot, staring blankly and muttering frantically.

"Oh I knew this would happen." Crowley said irritably. He glared pointedly at the Doctor who looked away. With an exasperated sigh, the demon strode over to Sherlock and snapped his fingers in front of the detective's face.

"Anyone home?" he asked. Sherlock didn't seem to register he was there.

"Can't… impossible… blood talking… hallucinations? No… different place… impossible… Moriarty…playing with me…" the detective continued to mutter to himself.

"Well if he was cracked before, he's broken now." Crowley told the others, peering into the detective's glassy eyes. With a frown, the Doctor moved forward, sonic in hand, but Crowley stopped him.

"No, Not now. We need to leave." Crowley said seriously. He pointed to the Winchesters, "You two. Get the catatonic into the car."

"Tell me why exactly you're in charge?" Dean asked with a frown. Crowley looked like he was about to explode.

"Because I seem to be the only one who understands the reality of the crisis we're all in, and how in said time of crisis we need to protect our ONLY VALUABLE ASSET!" Crowley's voice escalated into a shout, and he gestured to the Doctor.

"Me? What's so special about me?" the Doctor asked, slightly surprised. Crowley opened his mouth to reply but never got the chance, for at that precise moment, their time ran out.

Dean recognized the sound instantly, despite it had been so many years since he'd first heard it in that run-down convenience store. It was high pitched and loud, and it reverberated in the air all around them. Both Winchesters and Sherlock clapped their hands to their ears in pain. Crowley swore loudly. The Doctor looked around rapidly for the source of the sound, both fascinated and concerned at the same time.

"ANGELS!" Dean shouted unnecessarily.

The dark sky all around them began to light up. Soon it was as if they were all looking at the world through a lens that increased the brightness and concentration of the picture. For the mortals, it was like looking at the sun.

"Dammit!" Crowley shouted over the growing noise. "If you humans know what's good for you, DON'T LOOK AT THEM!" He called. By this point, the demon also had his hands over his ears as he fell to his knees.

The Time Lord was the only one left standing. As the light burned around him, the noise intensified. For a full minute it remained that way.

"Who are you and what do you want?!" The Doctor challenged the light all around them.

At this the noise faded and the light began to recede, until all of a sudden there was a bright flash and at least a hundred people in suits were standing around them on all sides. Probably more. As the light died somewhat, the Winchesters were able to look up.

Directly in front of the Doctor, stood four people – one blond woman and two men who held another in between them.

"Cas!" Dean called out impulsively. The trench-coated angel had looked better.

"Well?!" The Doctor asked them all. Looking around, he noticed all eyes were on him; and the look in those eyes was frightening.

It was the look the Doctor saw in the eyes of frightened children, once they found their parents again.

The blonde woman came forward cautiously, before falling to her knees, tears in her eyes.

"My God… you have returned to us!"

11


	14. Chapter 14 - The Doctor is IN

Chapter 14

Doctor **Who**

The Doctor is IN

For once in his life, the Doctor was stunned into silence.

Following suit behind the woman, the rest of the heavenly host followed likewise reverently knelt before the Time Lord.

"My Lord… Castiel brought us news of your return." the woman said, not raising her eyes out of pure reverence, "Forgive us for not coming sooner… we… could not feel your presence as he could. We lacked faith."

"We lacked faith… should have believed…" the angels chorused around her. The Doctor glanced around at them, completely lost.

"Look I…" the Doctor tried to speak but nothing came out. "…what did you lack faith in?" he finally managed weakly.

"You, my Lord. That you would someday return to your creation." She said, looking at him with wide eyes. That was it. Fears confirmed. The Doctor swallowed.

"You think I'm…" He started to say but stopped halfway into the sentence. The infatuated gaze of all the angels collectively was slightly terrifying. They were, first and foremost, the heavenly host, an army without compare, if the stories were even half true. And the only thing that was standing between them and him was their misconceptions of his identity.

"My Lord, we have been waiting for your return for so long…" the angel said, so intensely genuine it induced pain.

"…I'm sure you have…" the Doctor said, his voice cracking slightly. "What have you… er… been doing in my absence exactly?"

"We…" the angel faltered and looked for support from her brethren, all of whom likewise seemed suddenly anxious.

"We have been misled my Lord." She said, turning back to the Doctor, tears on her face. "Misled by this slime!" She gestured emotionally to Castiel, whose head was bowed. "After Michael failed, he seduced us all into following him… but that was before he tried to claim your rightful place as God!"

"I..." The Doctor wasn't quite sure what to say to this.

"It was a mistake! His intentions were pure!" A strong voice came out from behind the Doctor. The Time Lord glanced behind him to see Sam still shielding his eyes somewhat, struggling to stand.

"Be silent Winchester. You stand in the presence your creator. Speak again and it will be your last." Another angel stepped forward toward Sam and Dean.

"Ah ah ah. I'd be careful if I were you." Crowley tutted wryly as he regained his footing and brushed himself off (again). "In case you ignorant little featherheads haven't noticed, those two have a habit of being helped by… 'God'. They're his special favorites. Isn't that right?" Crowley turned to the Doctor with a wry smile and a wink.

In a flash, three angels were upon the demon, grabbing his arms and forcing him to the ground.

"Speak not to our Lord and Father, demon FILTH!" the woman spat at Crowley. The angels restraining the demon proceeded to strike him. Once, twice. The punches flew at lightning speed until a second later Crowley was doubled over, coughing up blood.

"Stop!" The Doctor's voice sounded out instantly. The angels halted, looking up at him confused.

"My Lord?" the woman looked at the Doctor, confused.

"You heard me. I said stop. As in cease and desist." The Doctor said, clearly incensed. Despite his pain, Crowley smiled.

"My Lord… I'm not sure you know who this is…" the woman informed the Doctor, "He's not just a demon… This is the monster that runs HELL."

"He could be running an ice cream truck business, for all I care. It doesn't give you an excuse to beat on him like a sack of potatoes!" The Doctor said, his voice taking a shade of anger. His confidence growing every second, he continued. "If you lot had any intelligence, you would have noticed that he's WITH me … and therefore under my protection!"

"But my Lord…" the woman protested, confusion and concern in her eyes.

"That's the problem with you sanctimonious types." The Doctor cut her off, eyes flashing. "Never looking beyond what you believe to be true. Did it ever occur to you that you might be wrong? Tell me, how exactly does the concept of salvation work if you do not know how to forgive?" The Doctor finished, his eyes hard.

The angels shuffled uncomfortably, and the three that held Crowley looked uncertainly to the woman in front.

"If you didn't catch the subtext, I meant you should LET HIM GO." The Doctor told them. Turning around, the Time Lord's eyes fixed on Castiel and his restrainers.

"Him too!"

Sheepishly the angels released Castiel, who nearly fell to the ground from exhaustion.

"Now… what do you have to say for yourselves?" The Doctor challenged them all.

"That you are a great fool to think you can get away with impersonating God." A new voice entered the mix, and the crowd parted to let the owner forward.

The newcomer looked a bit like Sam and Dean. He was even dressed like them. What he was not, however, was like them.

"And you are?" the Doctor asked, trying to play it cool. It didn't work; he already knew his game was up.

"Michael. The Archangel. And I know my real Father when I see him. Or more specifically, when I don't." Michael spoke evenly, but his eyes were full of a burn that suggested mass murder might be on his to-do list today.

"I thought you looked familiar. Nice to see you again, Michael old sport." The Doctor said with a winning smile.

"You are not my Father." Michael stated flatly. At this the angels all around looked shocked and confused. They began to mutter amongst themselves.

"Right. Well you're not what I believe 'angels' ought to be! So I suppose we're all a little let-down today. Fancy that." The Doctor replied, backpedaling now.

"You have more than a few misdemeanors to answer for, Time Lord." Michael said with a cold smile. "You have been involved in much of the strife of this planet, you have freely consorted with the most wanted of war criminals, and you have unforgivably trespassed in matters most sacred to us." Michael told the Time Lord calmly. "It is therefore my duty to deal with you personally. Seize him." the angel finished with an order to his brethren. The other angels looked between each other, uncertain. The Doctor seized what little time he had left. Whirling around, he produced the sonic screwdriver from his pocket with a flourish. As he continued to walk backwards to the Impala and the Winchesters, he held the screwdriver to his forehead.

"Well it may be true I'm not 'God'. But, as you so cleverly identified me as a moment ago, I am a Time Lord, and let me tell you, that is so much worse for you all. You lot certainly seem like the telepathic type. We Time Lords had a knack for telepathy too… and if there's one thing I'm absolutely sure of…" the Doctor paused slightly as he glanced upward at the Sonic. It suddenly let off a charging whine like a camera after a flash.

"It's that you all aren't made of wood."

And with that the Doctor pressed a switch on the Sonic. Immediately the tool let out a piercing reverberating sound. In an instant every angel was down, some writhing in pain, some screaming silently, others lying still on the ground, staring in blank horror.

As they were tortured, those who still could began to disappear, including Michael. Some took their tortured brethren with them, until only a few were left. The Doctor gazed at the diminished heavenly host for a moment, feeling a fleeting remorse as they suffered. Then he was snapped back to the present by a hand on his arm.

"What did you do?" Sam asked, looking around at all the angels as they continued to writhe and disappear.

"Ah, Sam! Good to see you're alright! Gotta love humans. Practically no telepathic reception; makes you quite immune to any 'mind' attacks! Remarkable!" The Doctor said with a broad grin as he braced the wide-eyed Winchester's arm. "Unfortunately for this plucky winged army, they weren't lucky enough to have your humanity. I amplified my own telepathic broadcasting field and they were receiving. They just got a taste of what I see every minute." The Doctor tapped his forehead with a finger.

"Which is?"

"All of space and time. What was. What is. What may come to be. The Time Vortex."

"Well… it sure worked." Sam said warily, looking around at the devastation a single move had caused. Nearly all the angels had fled now.

"Sometimes I wish I wasn't so resourceful…" The Doctor said somewhat sadly.

"Hey Doc, you do know how to fix this, don't you?" Dean called to them. He was on the ground, kneeling next to a familiar figure. The Time Lord and Sam made their way over to him.

"Who is he?" The Doctor inquired of the Winchesters.

"A freaking idiot, that's who," Dean said tersely. "but he's been through a lot with us and we owe him more than just leaving him here to burn up in the head." The Doctor looked between Sam and Dean, waiting for more.

"He's… a friend. A good one." Sam elaborated. The Doctor bit his lip, thoughtfully.

"Well I should be able to repair the damage… but it'll take time…and somewhere safe to work. So now would be the best time for speedy getaway." He said, looking over the angel. "That is your car over there, is it not?" The Doctor inquired of the elder Winchester, who nodded curtly. "Excellent. Go ahead and put the angel in the car." Dean nodded again and hoisted Castiel up in his arms.

"Doctor, your friend isn't in that good shape either…" Sam called from a little ways off. He was at Sherlock's side, and his statement was certainly true.

"Oh no..." The Doctor moved swiftly over to Sam and knelt next to the detective. With his mind scrambled as it was, Sherlock had failed to heed Crowley's warning: he had not shut his eyes when the angels arrived. And it was not a pretty sight. No pun intended.

"This is my fault…" The Doctor said, staring at the gruesome mess that used to be Sherlock's eyes. For once, the Time Lord was unable to think of anything to do. Sam steadied him with a hand.

"Don't worry… If you can get Cas up and running, he can fix him." Sam told him reassuringly. The Time Lord broke from his reverie and looked at Sam, who gave him a encouraging smile. The Doctor nodded, shaking his head slightly to clear it, before standing up again.

"Right. Then let's get him in the car next to the angel… but say that reminds me," The Doctor said, turning around in place as Sam hoisted Sherlock, "Where's Canton?"

"Who?" Dean asked, slightly confused as he returned from the car.

"Er, Crowley. The demon." The Doctor corrected himself, still looking around. All the angels were gone now, and the demon was nowhere to be found. Dean rolled his eyes.

"Wherever he is, he's not worth our time. He'll show up eventually." He informed the Time Lord, as he ducked into the car.

"I-" The Doctor was hesitant, but Sam turned to support his brother.

"Dean's right… if there's one thing we know about Crowley, it's that he's impossible to get rid of forever."

"Well… alright…" The Doctor said at last, giving in. Following the Winchesters lead, he climbed in to the backseat of the car, next to their two comatose party members.

"Everyone in?" Dean asked, glancing in the rear view mirror. "Alright. Let's get this show on the road."

The Impala's engine roared to life and Dean changed gears. Turning the wheel, the elder Winchester pulled a 360 and started out on the road back to town. As the landscape flashed by outside the window, the Doctor couldn't help but feel like he was in a completely foreign horse race, stuck in the lane with six feet of mud, moving impossibly slowly. He missed his ship. He missed his companions. This whole adventure was so… different.

"Say Doc it's gonna be a bit of a drive…" Dean said suddenly. The Doctor looked up from his thoughts. He had been expecting a question session.

"I hope you don't mind classic rock." Dean informed him, not even bothering with the pretense of giving the Time Lord a choice.

"I hope you don't mind my singing." He returned half-heartedly. Sam laughed at this, startling the Doctor into a smile. Perhaps the car ride wouldn't be so long after all.

…

"Alright. Dean, set the angel on the first bed. Sam, Sherlock on the second." The Doctor directed the Winchesters as they hauled their respective limp forms into the small motel room.

"I still can't believe this is THE Sherlock Holmes." Sam reiterated. The younger Winchester was, no surprise, a fan of the books and had a hard time grasping the idea that the character really existed.

"I can't believe a guy that's three part feathers can be this heavy." Dean said, coming in behind his brother, struggling under the weight of the unconscious angel.

"That's the spirit Dean. Watch your feet! You're stepping on his wings!" The Doctor told him cheerily. Dean looked up.

"You can see his wings?" the elder Winchester asked, incredulous.

"Sure I can! They're not exactly small!" The Doctor gestured to the empty space all around Castiel, where, to the Winchesters, there was nothing. Upon the Winchesters' stares, he realized he must have missed the fact that they could not in fact, see the said celestial aspect of their friend. Looking between them and the unconscious angel, the Time Lord pointed to himself. "Higher dimensional being from outer space and all that. One of the perks is seeing on higher dimensional levels." He explained.

"What do they look like?" Sam asked curiously, clearly very interested.

"There sort of like the bit that didn't quite fit inside the vessel. They stick out the back. Glowing and all. Still, quite pretty, if you're into that sort of thing. Maybe a what, 18 foot wingspan? Impressive." The Doctor said, nodding to himself thoughtfully.

Straining, Dean finally heaved Castiel's limp form onto the bed and stood aside, breathing heavily as he turned to the Doctor.

"Okay. You're up Doc." Dean told the Doctor, still panting slightly. The Time Lord was already moving forward, scanning the angel with his screwdriver as he sat down on the bed next to the trench-coated figure.

"What is that thing?" Sam asked the Doctor, nodding to the sonic.

"This? Oh, glad you asked! It's a Sonic Screwdriver!" the Doctor said, proudly showing the Winchesters.

"What does it do?" Dean said, looking at it critically.

"It's like a screwdriver… but it works by issuing sonic waves." The Doctor said, gesturing to mimic waves with a hand. The Winchesters both still looked skeptical.

"I'm… not a fan of violence. I prefer a tool to a weapon any day." The Doctor explained, turning back to the angel. "And this is the tool of all tools. Opens doors, takes readings, flips switches, fixes cabinets…"

Dean looked at Sam, who shrugged.

"Well what's the prognosis Doc?" Dean asked, cutting to business.

"Good, if I can just lock onto his telepathic receiver again…" The Doctor glanced at some readings on the screwdriver and then held a hand to his own forehead. "Hmmmm… I think I've got it…"

Leaning forward, the Doctor swabbed a finger across Castiel's perspiring forehead and tasted it. The Winchesters exchanged glances.

"Yup. That's it. Tastes like religion." The Doctor pulled a face. "Well here goes nothing!" Taking him by the sides of his head, the Doctor pulled Castiel close and smacked his own forehead against the angel's. The resulting crash seemed to resound through the motel room, as the lights flashed and the something akin to thunder rumbled.

"Ohhhhh, I said I'd never do that again…" The Doctor mumbled, standing shakily, holding his own head. On the bed, Castiel's eyes snapped open and he sat up, putting a hand to his brow.

"What-" the angel stopped mid-sentence as he noticed the Winchesters, the Doctor, and his surroundings. "What exactly did I miss?" Dean smiled.

"Good to have you back Cas." the hunter said genuinely.

"Where have I been?" Cas inquired, still confused.

"The Time Vortex, I'd say. It's a bit of a confusing place, but I think you'll be alright." The Doctor came forward again, grabbing Castiel by the chin and scrutinizing the eyes. "Yeah you look ship shape!… Hell of a mind you got there! Full of Science and Spells, and yet empty of common sense!… and your intentions, my they're pure aren't they!" The Doctor said, eyes twinkling. "You're much more the type of angel I imagined."

"Who… are you?" Castiel asked, pulling away.

"Ah. Right. Introductions! I'm the Doctor! Not a real Doctor mind, more of a… honorary title. I fix things. Not people… though I guess I have fixed a few people in my day, yourself included, but I mostly fix situations. As in terrible situations, situations where we could all end up violently killed, not unlike the one we are in currently!" The Doctor said with a beaming smile. Cas simply stared at him.

"Also: I'm not God. You seemed to have that a little confused earlier." The Doctor added.

"But your presence…" Castiel started, the Doctor shook his head, holding up his hands.

"Time Lord." He said pointing to himself. "From a planet called Gallifrey. Not surprised you haven't heard of it, you angels tend to never leave heaven, let alone visit another planet besides Earth… Anyway, I'm a higher dimensional being and all that, not unlike you. It's why we both know each other to be more than just what we look like. " The Doctor nodded to Castiel.

Castiel tilted his head like a puppy, trying to take in this information. Dean stepped forward.

"Don't think about it too hard." The elder Winchester said, laying a hand on Castiel's shoulder. "It's not really important at the moment."

"That's debatable." A new voice entered the mix. The Doctor whirled around to find none other than Crowley sauntering into the room, having just appeared inside the door.

"Canton! You're alright!" The Doctor moved over to the demon and grabbed him by the shoulder, looking him over worriedly. "You don't seem to have been effected by the time vortex… you must have a lower telepathic reception then the angels…"

Crowley looked violated, having someone fussing over him, and he quickly shook the Doctor off.

"I'm fine. Just have a monster of a headache, which translates to a short temper. Next time let me know before you unleash a shockwave of mental breakdowns." Moving past the Time Lord, Crowley nodded to the others. "Hello boys. Castiel. Unpleasantly necessary to see you, as always."

"Crowley. What are you doing here?" Castiel asked darkly.

"Haven't they told you yet? I'm the one who brought together this little boy band … speaking of which, where's Miss Marple?" Crowley turned back to the Doctor. A pained expression crossed the Time Lord's face.

"Oh that's right! Castiel, I have a little job for you." The Doctor extended a hand and directed the angel over to the other bed.

"Sherlock over here is in need of some medical attention… Sam and Dean are confident you can help us in that area." The Doctor said tentatively, looking from the angel to the detective with the burned out eyes. Castiel looked Sherlock over for a moment or two, before simply reaching down and placing two fingers on the detective's forehead.

A moment passed. Nothing happened.

"His mind seems to be in a state of turmoil." Castiel informed the company. Crowley once again gave the Doctor a look, which the Time Lord avoided.

"Can't you fix him?" Dean asked impatiently.

"I could heal the wounds," The angel admitted, "but I have already been severed from heaven's power again, and I feel that the expenditure of power would be useless, as it would do little to help him. What goes on in his mind… it is not an injury. I do not know if there is a way to 'fix' it." The angel informed them.

The Doctor moved forward and looked Sherlock over again, scrutinizing him. He scanned the detective with the sonic and quickly looked at the readings. After a moment the Time Lord sighed and looked away, his face a mixture of disappointment and frustration.

"I… suppose I could try rearranging his head from the inside…" Crowley offered after a moment.

"NO." Both of the Winchesters said instantly. The Doctor shook his head in agreement.

"It wouldn't do any good. Sherlock's mind operated on a strict set of guidelines – it was his job, no, his life to know every rule of the game and how they could fit together to accomplish the impossible. Now that we've introduced the fact that all those rules can and have been broken… essentially infinitely expanding the guidelines of what can and can't be done… His mind has most likely collapsed in upon itself." The Doctor said sadly.

"If you knew this would happen, why exactly did you bring him?" Sam asked.

"Well… I HAD hopes that he would be able to help me solve the problem of you two… but I suppose I was so focused on what I wanted that I neglected to consider who else might suffer in the process… " The Doctor said, looking at Sherlock.

"The problem of us?" Dean prompted. At this the Doctor looked up.

"Yes. You two. Or more specifically, whoever framed you. You see, I wasn't just chasing you for the fun. I was trying to catch a murderer."

"A murderer?" Sam asked, bewildered.

"In 1933 a very dear friend of mine was... murdered. Stabbed, right in her own home." The Doctor said quietly, pausing before continuing. "I walked in, just as the villain was escaping."

"I'm sorry for your loss, but… what does that have to do with us?" Dean asked, though not without feeling. The Doctor looked up sharply.

"The murderer was wearing your face. He looked exactly like you. Down to the cut of his jeans and the expression he wore." The Doctor said, eyes hard. Dean fell silent at this, not knowing what to say.

"Well we've run into plenty of monsters before that could take on the form of another," Sam interjected, breaking some of the tension, "Shifters, ghouls… leviathans…and all of them have a hobby of killing people."

"No, I have a feeling I already know what this one was…" the Doctor shook his head. "You see," the Doctor paused, glancing at Castiel for a moment, "he had wings like your friend over there." At this the Winchesters faces hardened.

"An angel? Are you sure?" Castiel broke his silence, his face serious.

"He was a higher dimensional being, like you and I. He had wings, and he could naturally time travel." The Doctor said absentmindedly. "Does that sound familiar at all?" Castiel was silent.

"The trail he left was through time – it led me straight to central park where I spotted you two," the Doctor gestured to the Winchesters, "and I guess was misled to overhear Sam mentioning Dean killing Amelia… somehow…" the Doctor said tiredly, rubbing his forehead.

"Amelia… you mean Amy Pond?" Sam asked suddenly. The Doctor looked up, his expression hardening.

"You do know her?"

Dean grew pale at the name as he realized he had indeed killed Amy Pond. But before that train could derail, Sam stepped forward to intervene.

"I'm assuming your Amy didn't have a strict diet of lymph nodes?" Sam asked. The Doctor looked very confused and Sam breathed a sigh of relief. "I thought not. The truth is yeah, Dean's killed AN Amy Pond, but it was a brain-eating monster. I'm fairly certain we're talking about two different people."

The Doctor looked more at ease after this revelation. But his face grew serious again after a moment of thought.

"Well. That certainly explains how you falsely implicated yourself in Central Park. But that still leaves the whole problem of a possibly angelic time-travelling doppelganger who, I'm afraid, clearly has a sizable intellect. He certainly knew how to waste all our precious time by leading me directly back to you in order to lay a false trail."

Neither Dean nor Sam looked particularly happy at this news. Crowley coughed , interrupting them all.

"Let's not forget that we ALSO have an Apocalypse on our hands. But I mean, it's nothing important. We can worry about solving a little game of Clue first… it's not as if all our necks are on the guillotine or anything." the demon interjected sarcastically.

"Apocalypse?" The Doctor prompted, still behind on that subject.

"Showdown between Michael the Archangel from heaven and Lucifer the Archangel from Hell. It's just the foretold big bang that will destroy half the planet and kill a ton of people." Sam quickly summarized for the Doctor. "We stopped it before, but it seems to be back on track. Still, things are different this time." Sam returned to his conversation with Crowley, "This time we have him!" He gestured to the Doctor.

"Yes and clearly they've taken his box. The most valuable thing in the universe in the hands of people who want nothing more than to squash us into oblivion!"

"How much damage can they do with the box?" Dean turned, asking the Doctor.

"Theoretically? An infinite amount. The TARDIS was unlocked behind me, when we were transported to the other dimension, which is basically like leaving the keys in the ignition. From there you're only a hop, skip, and a jump away from infinitely altering time, if they could figure out how to make it work." The Doctor said worriedly. Castiel merely looked confused.

"What is this…box you all speak of?" The angel was still not completely caught up on everything. The Doctor eyed him for a moment, before beginning his story.

"My species… the Time Lords… we don't really have that many special supernatural abilities like you angels. Sure we have regeneration and two hearts and such, but mostly, are greatest asset are our minds. Sort of like humans actually. But much more advanced, obviously." The Doctor explained. "No offense meant of course." the Time Lord nodded to the Winchesters, both of whom looked as if they hadn't even realized they were being insulted.

"You have two hearts?" Sam asked curiously. The Doctor nodded absentmindedly.

"Anyway… the TARDIS was the crowning achievement of the Time Lords. Time and Relative Dimension in Space. A ship that could go anywhere at any time and be anything. It's infinity contained inside a set of walls, and it's fueled by a dying star trapped in a time stasis field – basically infinite energy. With it… well you could theoretically do anything. Alter time. Alter the universe… anything." The Doctor explained to Castiel.

"And now Lucifer has it." Crowley interjected. Castiel took a moment to digest this information.

"But why would the devil need a time travelling space ship? I mean, he's an archangel. He can already time travel and move through space." Sam pointed out.

"Maybe he didn't know what it was capable of. I mean… he hasn't exactly had a meet and greet with the Doc, has he?" Dean suggested.

"No, but he was let out by another Time Lord." Crowley told them. At this the Doctor looked up.

"That's impossible. I'm the last Time Lord." He told the demon firmly.

"Well, hate to burst your bubble but you're not. The whole reason we're in this mess is because someone who gave off a presence just like yours in nature strolled into hell the other day and let Michael AND Lucifer out of their cage." The Doctor was silent at this for a moment, until he spoke again.

"The fact we haven't already been erased from existence is the best encouraging thought we have at the moment… it promotes the idea that either the bad guys have not and will not have the chance to use the TARDIS to alter time significantly." The Doctor said thoughtfully. "Which means future us must have stopped them from doing so by possibly reclaiming the TARDIS."

The others all took a good minute to try and understand this line of thought.

"Well, I don't know about you, but encouraging thoughts are rarely enough to satisfy me. Tangible progress tends to be the only thing that makes me feel better. So might I suggest we form a plan on how to at least start remedying this masterpiece of a disaster?" Crowley suggested. The Doctor nodded.

"Now I know we have more than one thing on our plate to deal with here, but I'm just gonna go out on a limb and say that the TARDIS is probably our biggest problem at the moment." Crowley said. "Before we can even consider our next moves, it's imperative that we repossess it before Lucifer figures out how to permanently screw us all from existence with it.

"I agree." Castiel backed up the demon. "If the box is as powerful a weapon as he says it is, it has no place in the hands of Heaven or Hell."

"Well, despite the fact it is unlocked, it still has a number of safety features that will hopefully keep any would-be hijackers busy for a while. Even then, they'd still have to figure out how to drive it." the Doctor said thoughtfully. "But all of that would amount to nothing if there was indeed another Time Lord."

"So we need to get it back. Easier said than done." Dean said, folding his arms. "I mean, we don't even have a clue where it is."

"It would appear the angels do not have it." Castiel interjected, holding a hand to his head, presumably listening to angel radio. Sam shook his head.

"Lucifer was the last one with it when we left."

"So that means the demons then." Crowley said, looking slightly put off, "Perfect. They've probably wrecked the thing."

"No no. If they had done that, the solar system would be gone by now." The Doctor said distractedly. "But that still doesn't help us as to where it is."

"Oh yes it does." Crowley said with another disgruntled look. "I'll give you one guess: it starts with an 'H' and ends with an 'ELL'. Not a popular vacation spot. Chronic trouble with the Air Conditioning."

"You really think they took the TARDIS to Hell?" Sam asked Crowley. The demon shrugged.

"Hey, if I were still King, which I technically am by the way, and I had something THAT powerful that I needed to hide from angels and Winchester alike…"

"We should go retrieve it then." Castiel said immediately, standing up. But Crowley put out a hand to stop the angel.

"Hold on to your trench-coat. You may have been to Hell a couple of times, but you haven't been there when Lucifer's in charge. When our big 'Daddy' is running things, demons gain a whole new level of fervor and efficiency. They're still not very smart, but they're very VERY dedicated, organized... you might even call them competent."

"I don't understand what you're getting at." Castiel said, eyeing the demon.

"I'm saying we can't just walk in there." Crowley told the angel. "I'm saying your typical lack-luster tactics of walking and smiting aren't going to work this time. I might even be going so far as to say, I don't think you should come on this ride."

Castiel and both Winchesters opened their mouths to disagree, but Crowley held up his hands.

"It's not that I don't trust you – you already know I don't – it's just common sense. This is going to be, dare I pretend we can pull it off, a stealth mission. And I don't mean to hurt your feathered feelings, but I have never, in the entirety of my long-lived life, seen an angel pull off the stealth routine." Crowley snapped.

"…He has a point." Sam said, unhappy to be siding with the demon. "Cas's presence alone is enough to set off the alarm bells in Hell."

"So who would you have go?" Dean asked, turning to Crowley, eyes narrowed.

"Ideally? Just the one who can drive the thing." Crowley pointed to the Doctor. "However seeing as it is Hell, I suppose I ought to go as well, seeing as I'm the only one who knows my way around the place…"

"Oh wow. You alone with our only asset. That sounds like a great idea." Dean said, throwing his hands up.

"Tell us why exactly we can't come?" Sam asked the demon. Crowley rolled his eyes.

"You're Winchesters. Do I need to elaborate further? It may come as a complete surprise to you, but your activities tend to draw the attention of heaven and hell alike. And for the sake of something running smoothly for once, I'd prefer to have that attention directed somewhere else."

"That's a sad excuse. Even for you." Dean said, not buying it.

"No Dean, I think he's right for this one." the Doctor said, coming forward. "A huge party trying to infiltrate any place is historically not awesome. Besides, there are other things that need immediate attention." The Time Lord turned to glance at Sherlock who fidgeted and turned in his state, muttering.

"What, you want us to babysit the world's greatest detective?" Dean asked, frowning.

"Fix him was what I had in mind…" the Doctor said thoughtfully. "Whoever is organizing the other side clearly has something of a mastermind. We might find ourselves to be desperately in need of one such genius ourselves… if only to trace the spider web lines back to the culprit."

"Cas already said…" Sam started but stopped as Sherlock's mutters grew a bit more distinguishable.

"…Richard Brook… suicide… fake genius… John…"

The new compiled Team Free Will stood there, watching the comatose detective for a moment, lost in thought.

"…trauma… John…"

"Who's John?" Dean asked his brother.

"I dunno… Watson maybe?" Sam guessed, still feeling weird about dealing with fictional characters being 'real'. The Doctor had an epiphany.

"THAT'S IT!" The Doctor exclaimed excitedly. The others jumped at his sudden outburst.

"Care to enlighten the rest of us?" Crowley asked with a frown.

"Watson! Don't you see? He's the answer!" the Doctor said happily, as if he had solved the greatest puzzle in the world.

"I don't understand…" Castiel began but the Doctor quickly explained.

"Sherlock's mind… it's shattered right? Shattered because all the rules he plays by have been broken. He has no firm ground to stand on – and unfortunately he needs such a firm foundation for his mind to operate 24/7."

"So…?" Dean prompted.

"So what is the one GREATEST source of stability that Sherlock Holmes always elects to keep at his side?"

"Watson." Sam said, realizing. "You're saying if we find his Watson, we may be able to fix his head."

"In my experience a sturdy friendship has proven time and time again to be the best of all cures." the Doctor said with a satisfied smile.

"Right. Well, at least that gives you lot something to do besides twiddle your thumbs and be useless as usual." Crowley said, moving towards the door. "Do us a favor and make a bit of noise while your out – keep the heat off us."

"You want us to create a diversion?" Dean asked.

"Give the boy a prize." Crowley said patronizingly. "If it's not too much trouble. Just make sure it's far away from us. With the attention of the various hosts split, we might have a shot at this."

The company stood for a moment, reviewing their motley plan. It seemed sound enough, though a bit unusual for all their tastes. Still, a strange plan was better than no plan at all.

"Doctor?" Crowley asked, hand on the door knob. "The sooner we go, the sooner we'll return."

"Right." the Doctor acknowledged, with one last glance at Sherlock, he moved to follow the demon, who went out the door.

"You'll take care of yourselves, won't you?" the Time Lord asked the Winchesters and Castiel concernedly. Dean looked surprised at the Doctor's concern. Sam smiled. Castiel was merely confused.

"We've made it through worse. Trust us. Just watch out for yourself. And…" Sam paused, uncertain. He looked as if he wanted to say something else.

"…Yes?" The Doctor asked.

"Be careful. Hell…isn't a nice place." Sam said after a moment. The Doctor smiled.

"I imagine not. Well, good luck! I'll see you all again soon I hope!" And with that the Time Lord left, closing the door behind him.

16


End file.
